Resolving
by slytherinrules85
Summary: In the sequel to Roommates, Blaise returns to find things almost completely different than they were before he left.
1. The Return

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Hey guys! I told you it would be a few months, but here it is: the bright and shiny first chapter of _'Resolving'_! It'll be a while before chapter two is up, due to my going away for two weeks, but I promise I shall submit chapter two sometime within the next month and a half. If I don't, feel free to email me at slytherinrules85 at yahoo dot com and bug me. This is a beta-testing of the response for the fic, so I'm going to ask everyone who's reading it to please, please review! Thanks so much!

Huge thanks of course to my wonderful, completely talented and not only more than capable but amazing beta James for putting up with me and my weird writing bursts and ideas, not to mention the plot twists I pull out of nowhere. Without him, you can all be sure there would be no sequel because I was not going to do it without him. So thanks so much James!

* * *

**Chapter One**

**The Return**

June 26, 2003

_Professor Snape, _

_Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? I hope you haven't forgotten my handwriting; after all, you saw enough of it during the seven years you taught me, and a few times over the past five years. I'm writing to inform you that the last of the Death Eaters "following" me have been dealt with. Murdock was particularly resilient; it took six hours to wear him down before I could break through and – well, the closet description I have for it is "shut him off", so I'll go with that. _

_Anyway, five years is a long time, isn't it? As you probably know, you are the only one I've kept in contact with, if the fifteen letters we've exchanged count as keeping in touch. I suppose I kept in touch with you because you're detached enough to handle it but you still care. And stop scoffing, I know you do. _

_I got your letter three months ago. Sorry I didn't respond; I was injured and couldn't draw any attention to myself here in New York by sending an owl out. It would've been quite attention-drawing. And my neighbors think me strange already. As for your offer – I would be pleased to take it, now that I finally can, since I'm safe. Well, relatively safe. Unless you still have latent Death Eater rage left over wanting to murder me in my sleep, I think I'll be glad to join the staff at Hogwarts and be the Charms professor. It's nice that Luna Lovegood wants to stay with her children. Frankly, I'm a bit shocked she got the job, but she was good at Charms, I think, from what Hermione told me. _

_I'll be flying into Heathrow next week. Yes, I know, Muggle flying. I see you muttering protests under your breath, professor. You are so predictable sometimes. But I simply do not want to do another transcontinental Apparition. Last time was enough – you've no idea how hard it is to Apparate from Tokyo to Melbourne. I ended up in Manila for three months because I was worn out from the effort of it. But like I said, I'll be coming in through Heathrow next week. Don't worry about picking me up—I know you won't, anyway, it's just customary to say that—I'm taking a taxi into the city to find a flat. I decided not to live with my father, even though I know he'll offer me anything just to get me to stay. I've been on my own too long; I can't stop now. It's slightly addicting. _

_Sorry about the length. Please inform my father I'm coming home. Make sure he knows not to tell anyone else – I don't want a fuss. _

_Cheers, _

Blaise

Blaise folded the parchment up and slipped it into an envelope, handing it to his owl. The owl took off and he leaned against his window to watch the bird disappear into the night sky. He stared at the New York skyline and sighed as lights flicked on and off and people wandered around, the cars honking and birds cawing and crowing.

He sighed, closing the window and latching it. He would miss New York, just like he'd missed Rome, Prague and Sydney. New York had been fun, before his arm had been broken by Avery, not to mention the three fingers Murdock burned. The food was diverse and Broadway was rather entertaining, not to mention the large amount of cinema he saw. But, after five years of being gone from the Wizarding world (he hadn't gone into any of the Wizarding sections of any of the cities he had been to, there was too much risk), he missed it greatly. The Muggle world had its pleasures and entertainment value, but he missed being able to carry his wand around in his pocket, missed being about to Summon something at will, being able to Apparate into Diagon Alley. Being in London again would be good for him. And if the teaching job at Hogwarts didn't work out, he'd go to Isola, the school for purebloods he had turned away from years ago, and teach there.

He walked over to the bed and climbed in, falling asleep quickly. He'd have to be up early for work and he still needed two hundred dollars to pay off his credit bill before he left the States.

* * *

A week later, Blaise waited in the long security line to get into the terminal. He sighed as they told him to take off his shoes. He unlaced the sneakers and watched them poke them and run them through the x-ray machine as he tapped his stocking-covered foot on the carpet-covered cement. They handed him back his shoes and he put them back on, proceeding to the international departures and looking for his gate.

He settled himself in his coach seat and gave an annoyed look at the people behind him who had chosen to fly with their one-month-old baby.

After the plane took off, the attendants made the rounds and one stopped by his seat, handing him a coke. "Hello, Mr. Zabini," she said, her smile revealing unnaturally white teeth. He suspected several bleaching appointments with her dentist had gotten her those. "Is this your first flight on British Airways?"

"Sì, è il mio assistente di volo?" he replied. The flight attendant blinked slowly, her blond hair falling into her eyes. He repeated himself in English, slowly. "Yes, miss. Are you my attendant?"

Her face split into a smile again. "Yes, I am," she said just as slow. "I suppose you only speak Italian?"

He smiled slightly. "Non parlo inglese," he said, shrugging.

The flight attendant's brow wrinkled again. The woman across the aisle snapped, "Oh for fuck's sake, he said he doesn't speak English. Now, can I get my bloody gin or not?"

The attendant started at her voice. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, handing the woman a gin. She flashed a smile at Blaise, who didn't return it, and continued down the aisle.

The woman with the gin turned to Blaise. "Salute," she said to him.

He nodded and said, "Anche a te," drinking his soda.

The woman laughed and said in Italian, "Honestly, Blaise, after five years you don't recognize me? It's me, Isabella." She grinned at him and continued, "You remember. Former schoolmate, neighbor in Italy your entire childhood. Good God you've been away a long time."

Blaise swallowed his coke, almost choking. "Isabella?" he said, also in Italian. "Wow. It's been a long time."

Isabella pulled her hair back and he saw the crooked smile on her face. "Indeed it has. I hear you've been quite the globe-trotter."

He laughed. "Well, when twelve Death Eaters are after your blood, it's not an incentive to stay in one place for long."

Isabella nodded, understanding. "You should see your family as soon as you get back. Some things have happened that... Well, it's not my place to say. Just get in touch with them as soon as we land."

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "And when is it 'not your place'? I don't remember you really caring for your place before."

"That was different," she snapped. "This is family. I am not family. It is not my place to reveal family business, just as it would not be your business to reveal my family's business if I didn't know about what was going on."

He nodded. "All right." Finishing his drink, he said, "Buona notte, dormi bene."

She smiled. "Anche tu."

Blaise turned away and switched off his light, going to sleep almost immediately. Through his dreams he saw Hermione's face and the faces of almost everyone else he knew in England, as well as his family.

It was Saturday, July 5th, when he landed in Heathrow. He proceeded out into the sunshine with his bags and sipped at the large cardboard cup of coffee he held, smiling at the taste. He sighed as he pulled his suitcases and trunk behind him to the taxi area and loaded them into a taxi. Climbing into the car, he slumped down in the seat and sighed, eyes closed.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked.

"Paddington."

"Aye, but where in Paddington?"

Blaise frowned. "I don't care; just drop me off by the tube station."

"All right."

Blaise dozed the entire way until the cabbie screeched to a stop, jostling him completely awake. "What's the fee?" He squinted at the meter. "Okay, good." He handed the cabbie the fare and got out with all his bags, proceeding to look for a real estate office. Once he found one, he went in and sat down.

"Can I help you, sir?" the receptionist asked.

"Yes. I'd like to buy a one bedroom flat somewhere near the train station," Blaise said.

The receptionist blinked. "But those are all over five _hundred thousand_ pounds."

Blaise smiled. "Then it's a good thing I have over five hundred thousand pounds, isn't it?"

The receptionist—Mindy, her desk plate said—blinked once more and said, "Please hold on a moment." She picked up her phone, pressed a few buttons and had a heated, whispered conversation. Moments later, a man dressed in a slick suit came out of his office and walked over to him. Blaise could almost see the pound signs flashing in the man's eyes.

"Hello, sir. I understand you're looking for a flat?" the real estate agent said hopefully. "I'm Thomas Woorlands. How can I help you?"

Blaise smiled. "Hello, Thomas. I'm Blaise Zabini and I've just come back from a long, long trip. It would be wonderful if you could find me a one-bedroom flat near the train today. A nice one, preferably, but any will do. I can always fix it up. Price is, of course, not an object." This time he did see the pound signs.

Thomas brought Blaise back into his office and about five minutes later he looked up from his computer and smiled widely. "Mr. Zabini I believe I have found you your flat." He stood up. "If you'd care to follow me, we can go have a look-see and then, if you want, sign some papers."

"That would be wonderful, Thomas," Blaise told him. "I'm sure I'll love it."

And he did love the flat. It was small, with a tiny kitchen and living space, not to mention the smaller bedroom and bathroom without a tub, but it was right across the road from the tube station and Blaise only really needed that. So he went back to the real estate office and signed the papers, writing out a check for five hundred forty eight thousand and six hundred twelve pounds. The Gringotts goblins that would be changing his money and sending it to the agency through their Muggle associate bank would not be completely happy, but that didn't matter.

It was also a very passive-aggressive way of informing his family he was back in London.

The rest of the evening was spent buying furniture and having it delivered right away. He bought only the basics: a few rugs, a bed, armchair, pots, and pans. Food he spent an entire two hours on, picking only the best he could find. When he got home and stored the food in his refrigerator, he promptly went into his bedroom and fell into bed, asleep before he hit the sheets.

He woke up the next afternoon and moaned as he rubbed his eyes. Just as he was settling in, he heard a tapping noise on the window and when he saw his owl there he leaned out and pulled it back inside by the tail.

"Sorry, Oddsbreath," he muttered as the owl pecked him angrily. "Just a bit worn out." He unrolled the parchment that was on the owl's leg and read it.

* * *

July 05, 2003

_Blaise Zabini, _

_Yes, indeed five years is a long time. I am glad your brain hasn't failed you during your travels and through the vast amounts of vodka I am sure you consumed during your stay in Moscow. Whatever induced you to go there was beyond reason, which, with you, is so often the case. I am very glad to see Murdock having met his maker. He was an unpleasant person. _

_As to you being unable to write, that is perfectly understandable. I have been in similar situations myself. I am glad you will accept the position as the Charms professor. Minerva has contaminated the High Table mostly with Gryffindors and their incessant chatter is sickening as most of it is gushing about Potter's child, who he and his Weasley wife named 'Wulfric' of all things, poor child. Also, it shall be a blessing to have you there to counter the ever-annoying Granger and the never-ending chatter that has been going on since she was added to the staff as the head of Gryffindor and Transfigurations teacher. _

_And I understand, you now have an apartment. Your father, of course, is outraged that you would choose to live somewhere else, but I believe only the knowledge that you would come visit soon calmed him down. That, and he can't cut you off since you have come into your grandmother's estate now that you are twenty two. _

_So you'd better go visit, you damnable child. Otherwise your father will have my head. Come see me when you get the chance. That was not a request. _

_Severus Snape_

* * *

Blaise laughed as he finished the letter. It didn't seem to him Snape had changed much over the years he had been gone. Almost instantly he stopped laughing, though, the line of the letter mentioning Hermione belatedly registering with his brain.

Hermione was at Hogwarts, or she would be. Blaise's fingers twitched as he stared at the text. He sat down heavily in his chair and leaned his head back, sighing.

"I did not need this," he groaned, running his hands through his hair. "I just got back. I haven't seen anyone in five years and Hermione is teaching at Hogwarts? Perfect. Simply perfect." He sat there for a few more minutes before walking into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of his favorite Moscow vodka. He poured himself a glass. Drinking it down, he walked over to the table, Summoned a pad of paper and a pencil and began to outline his curriculum. Settling on some books, he wrote a list of what he would need for the school year and decided to go to Diagon Alley in the morning after writing to McGonagall, the new Headmistress, about the curriculum.

When morning came, he made his breakfast and packed his leather satchel with everything he'd need. He felt particularly satisfied to put his wand into the pocket of his knee-length jacket.

Making his way to the underground, he smiled at the busy city as he bought a ticket and then boarded the train. Ten minutes later he got off and grinned as he saw the Leaky Cauldron before him. He strode across the street quickly and slipped inside, breathing in the smoke and the smell of the tavern.

"Hello, Tom," he said to the barkeep. The old man smiled.

"'Ello, Mr. Zabini. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes, it has been." Blaise grinned at him.

"You want somethin' to drink?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks. I'll just be going into the Alley."

"All right, then. Have a nice day. Say hello to your dad for me."

"Will do, Tom. You too." Blaise exited the Cauldron and went into Diagon Alley, grin stretching even further as he saw the hustle and bustle of his favorite shopping district. Halfway to Gringotts, he was stopped by an old, familiar voice.

"Blaise? Blaise Zabini?" Blaise turned to see Harry Potter standing there, holding a baby. Behind him was Ginny Weasley.

"Harry." Blaise smiled. "Hello. How are you?"

Harry glared at him. "You bastard. You think you can show your face around here? After what you did?"

Blaise walked a little closer. "Do you want to cause a scene, Potter? That, in my estimation, would not be wise."

Harry leaned close to him. "I stopped thinking anything of your estimation a long time ago, Zabini. After you broke Hermione's heart."

Blaise glared back at him. "And what else was I supposed to do? Stay and let her die? I don't think so."

"She can defend herself," Harry hissed. "You two could've been safe."

"Desperate men," Blaise said, rolling up his left sleeve, "do desperate things." He thrust his left elbow under Harry's nose. "Look at this. Do you think the Death Eater who did that wasn't desperate? Rawlins was almost finished; he would've done anything to get away from me." Blaise's elbow was scarred and the skin above it was shiny with burn scar tissue. "And the three broken legs I've gotten over the past five years? Do you really think that I got those from patient men? Lucius Malfoy, now, he was a stunner. When I took him down, it cost me two broken kneecaps and a fractured shoulder blade. Do you think I should have subjected Hermione to all of that just so she would be 'happy'?"

Harry stared at Blaise. "All of that?"

"Everything. Of course, I almost broke my back falling off a cliff in Baguio City, but I managed to only break an arm, God knows how."

"Baguio? Philippines, Baguio?" Ginny asked.

Blaise smiled a bit. "Yes."

"Oh." Ginny looked around for a moment. "So have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Have you seen Hermione yet?"

Blaise avoided her and Harry's eyes, instead looking at the baby, who looked sternly back at him. "No, I haven't."

Ginny smacked his arm. "Well you should. Come on, Harry. I promised Mum we'd get back in time for her to take another eight hundred photos of Wulf."

"See you around, Blaise," Harry said, giving Blaise a sad smile. "It's good to know you're not dead floating in a river somewhere."

Blaise laughed. "Thanks, Harry. See you." Harry and Ginny turned to walk away. "Harry, one thing!"

Harry turned. "What?"

"Don't tell Hermione I'm back. Not yet."

Harry frowned. "You can't hide forever."

"I don't intend to. Just...don't tell her yet, okay?"

"All right," Harry said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

* * *

**A/N:** Once again, thanks for reading, please, please review! I don't give spoilers because that always makes me anxious, but since I am going away for a few weeks, I'll let tell you something that happens: Blaise does, indeed, visit people. Many people. Arguments and fights ensue. Good stuff.

One last reminder: Review please!

**Tanslations: **

"Sì, è il mio assistente di volo?" - Yes, are you my attendant?

"Salute," - Here's to you/Cheers

"Anche a te," - And to you

"Buona notte, dormi bene." - Good night, sleep well.

"Anche tu." - You too.


	2. Becoming Reacquainted

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Hi guys! Here's the second chapter to Resolving! I'm so glad that I got such a positive feedback from everyone! Hope you all will enjoy this chapter and please review!

Translations of the French phrases at the bottom of the page.

Thanks to my beta reader James, who really is invaluable to this fic and my writing process.

**

* * *

**

**Two**

**Becoming Reacquainted **

After window shopping a bit, Blaise continued on to Gringotts, where he withdrew enough money to have the goblins glare at him as he walked out. He went back down to Flourish & Blotts and went directly to their Charms section. When he couldn't find what he needed, he went to the front

"Excuse me," he said to the attendant.

She turned around. "Yes?"

"I'm Blaise Zabini, and I'm looking for several books, but they don't seem to be on the shelves." He showed her the list.

"Those books wouldn't be on there, sir. They're limited print books. I'll have to get Mr. Flourish."

"You do that," Blaise said, leaning on the counter. A moment later, an old man with fluffy white hair springing from his head in all directions came out from the back office.

"Blaise Zabini!" Flourish said. "Welcome back! Which books are you looking for?"

"Introduction to Charms, volumes one and two… Er, A Charming Life; Charming To Life; Defensive Charms… Uhm, Offensive Charms; Multi-Purpose Charms…." He shuffled through a few note-filled papers. "And, let's see, Advanced Charms Theory and Charms, In Summary."

"Oh my." Flourish's eyebrows lifted up. "And why in the world would you want those books?"

"I'm teaching at Hogwarts this year. I need them for my curriculum; they'll be the textbooks for my students," Blaise responded.

Flourish smiled. "Then I had better order more of these books, then, eh?"

Blaise smiled back. "I expect so. But right now only I need those books, so if you could be so kind…"

"Of course, of course." Flourish went into the back, came out with all of the books wrapped up and handed them to Blaise. "Two hundred and fifty Galleons, please."

Blaise heard a few gasps from behind him, but he just handed the man his money. "There you are. Thanks for the books, Mr. Flourish."

"You're welcome. Say hello to your father for me!"

"I will." Blaise walked out and Apparated back to his flat, not wanting to bother with the train again. He placed his books on the table and started back on his curriculum.

A week later he had almost completed the curriculum and, as he was getting his breakfast ready, he noticed Snape's letter on the table, tucked under a book. Deciding that putting off the visit to Snape's home any longer would be hazardous for his health, he finished his breakfast, pulled out some of the things he'd found while he had been gone and stuffed them into his bag. Grabbing his wand, he Apparated into the village.

Walking through the small village, he ignored everyone's curious gazes and walked directly to Spinner's End and then to Snape's home. Knocking on the door, he jumped a bit when it swung open quickly.

"You're late," Snape snapped at him, moving aside to let him in.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was supposed to show up right after I got your letter," Blaise responded sarcastically. "I had things to do."

"Things? What king of things? You've been here less than a fortnight." Snape sat in an old armchair and motioned Blaise to the threadbare sofa.

"I've been organizing my curriculum. Surely you know how hard that is." Blaise said, settling himself on the sofa. Snape nodded. "And moving in. Arranging a cleaning lady for when I'm at Hogwarts, that sort of thing."

Snape's mouth twitched. "A cleaning lady?"

Blaise glanced around the room. It was quite dusty. "Yes. Dust gathers even when you're not there, professor."

Snape coughed and picked up a bottle of wine from a side table and poured two glasses, handing one to Blaise. "Let us not dance around things. You are here because you now know Granger is teaching at Hogwarts as well. You want to know what has happened. Please, ask, so that I do not have to pretend I don't know why you are here."

Blaise laughed, taking the wine from Snape. "Never one to avoid anything, are you? All right, I will ask. Please tell me what is happening with Hermione."

"Bluntly?" Snape asked, drinking his wine.

Blaise grew impatient as he answered, "Yes, bluntly," giving Snape a '_get on with it!_' look.

Snape placed his wineglass delicately down on the table. "It pains me to inform you, Blaise, that Granger is dating your old friend and my old student, Draco Malfoy."

Blaise's wineglass fell out of his hand as he went to put it on the table and crashed onto the floor. "What?" Snape glared at him. Blaise glanced distractedly down at the mess and flicked his wand at it, causing the wine stain to disappear and the glass to repair. "She's _what_?"

"Dating Draco Malfoy," Snape said slowly, his lips twitching mildly.

Blaise sunk back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. "I- I didn't expect- She _can't_-"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, boy," Snape snapped, "you didn't think she would stay here and mope about for you, did you?" Blaise just looked at him blankly. "Well if you did, you're a bigger idiot that I thought you were. Granger is not a doll. You cannot place her on a shelf and expect her to be there five _years_ later. She moved on."

Blaise glared at him. "Well, thank you for telling me that, professor. It's exactly what I wanted to hear. I wasn't just asking how she was doing; I wanted details on her love life." He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Hermione can date whoever she damn well pleases, just so you know, and so can I. I have to go now; I'll see you at Hogwarts at the start of term." He reached into his pocket and gripped his wand, Apparating back to his flat.

* * *

By the second week of August Blaise had finally finished his curriculum, and when he woke up, his eyes landed on the large pile of letters his father had sent him since he had got back. He groaned.

"I suppose," he muttered to himself, "that I shall have to visit today. I've put it off long enough." He pulled himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, taking off his pajamas and showering quickly.

After his shower, he dressed and went into the kitchen to make breakfast. As he was sitting down to eat, there was a knock on his door.

"Oh for- _What?_" he said, opening the door. A young woman stood outside, holding a saran-wrapped plate with a frozen smile on her face.

"Hi," she said, blinking rapidly. "I'm Louise and I'm your neighbor, I'm in three D. I just wanted to bring you some cookies and welcome you into the building since I don't think anyone else really made any effort to get to know you."

"Oh." Blaise took the cookies from her and opened the door a bit wider. "Sorry, I've only just woken up, I was eating breakfast. Please, come in."

"I wouldn't want to disturb you," she said, stepping into his flat. "Oh my, it's quite...bare."

Blaise closed the door. "Yes, I haven't really had time to decorate. I'm Blaise Zabini, by the way."

She smiled and extended a hand. "Louise. Louise Nunn. Nice to meet you, Blaise Zabini."

He shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, too, Louise Nunn." He looked around the apartment. "So, is it really that bare?"

She laughed. "You have one chair, a table and a rug in your living space. A table and two chairs in your kitchen, nothing in the tiny dining area and God knows what in your bedroom. And you've been here a month. Why haven't you gone shopping for anything else?"

Blaise laughed. "I've been working on my curriculum, so I haven't had much time to do anything else, except shop for food. Barely had the time to see my old professor a few weeks ago, I was so busy."

Louise perked up at this. "You're going to teach? Where?"

"At my old school, actually. Turns out the professor whose job I'm taking over is retiring to raise her kids and the professor before her, who was my teacher, died several years ago in a terrible accident. So my old professor wrote me in New York that they needed me and so here I am." He leaned up against the wall. "I'm sorry, I've been dreadfully rude. Would you like something to eat?"

She smiled. "Just coffee, if you have any, thanks." She watched as he placed her cookies in the fridge, poured coffee with one hand and ate his breakfast with the other. "So, New York. Wow, that's quite a while away from England. How in the world did you get from here to there?"

He handed her the coffee and grinned. "Actually, I didn't. I went from here to Paris."

"And from Paris all the way to New York?" she asked.

"No, from Paris to Rome. Then to Berlin, Athens, Prague, Moscow, Tokyo, the Philippines, Melbourne, Sydney, Wellington and then New York." He laughed at her expression. "And by no means did I only take a long vacation. I've been gone five years. It's nice to be back in London again, after all this time."

"I expect your family is happy to see you again, after being gone so long, with only phone calls and letters to keep in touch," she said, drinking her coffee.

Blaise's smile turned grim. "Actually, I haven't spoken to them since I left. That's what I'm going to do this afternoon – take the train up to my dad's house and see my sisters and my brother-in-law. And my nieces and nephews."

"That's nice of you," Louise said. She looked at her watch. "Oh crap, I have to go to work. It was nice meeting you, Blaise, enjoy the cookies!" She left and Blaise sat back down at his table, eating breakfast.

His watch beeped at him and he glanced down. Ten AM. "Wonderful," he muttered. Grabbing his coat and satchel, he reached into his pocket and gripped his wand, Apparating to the front door of Zabini Manor.

After standing there for five minutes, he finally knocked on the door. It was opened by a small House Elf.

"Master Blaise!" she shrieked. It was Lyttie. She dragged him inside and the door slammed shut behind him. "Master Blaise is back!" she yelled. House Elves immediately materialized in the foyer and he heard running footsteps from upstairs. As the House Elves surrounded him and hugged him, deafening him with their high-pitched chatter, he looked up at the upper stair landing and saw his father staring down at him.

"Well, come on down, Dad," he shouted above the elves. "I can't come there; you might as well come see me!"

Zachary Zabini started down the stairs and, even though he appeared mad to his son, he couldn't maintain the slow pace and ran down the rest of the stairs and over to Blaise, causing the House Elves to scatter before they were trampled. He almost knocked Blaise over, hugging him tightly.

"Hi Dad," Blaise said, his voice muffled. "How are you?"

Zachary pulled back. "How am I? _How am I_? HOW AM I?" he yelled. "You disappear for _five years_ and come back and have the nerve to ask how I _am_?" Blaise blinked. Zachary took a few deep breaths. "I'm all right, Blaise." Tears glistened in his eyes. "How are you?"

"Good." Blaise hugged his dad again. "I'm good. I missed you all."

"Oh and that shows, doesn't it?" a new, sharp voice said. Blaise looked up and saw his sister Zel standing a few feet away. "Shows from the many, _many_ letters we've gotten, doesn't it?"

"Zel-" he started, walking towards her. Her fist came out and tried to hit him across the face but he reacted quickly, gripping her forearm and twisting it behind her back, making sure not to hurt her. "Zel. I realize you are my older sister. I also realize you are mad at me for not writing or visiting while I was gone. But I cannot allow you to hit me because I really don't want to hit you back, which I would because it's just muscle memory. So when I let you go, you aren't going to hit me because I will hit you back and I don't particularly want to do that in front of your husband and children." He let her go and turned to Eduardo. "Hello, Eduardo. How've you been?"

His brother-in-law smiled. "Good. You haven't met Atton or Taris, have you?" He pulled the little boy who was hiding behind him out and pushed him a bit towards Blaise. "Go on, Atton. It's your Uncle Blaise."

Blaise knelt and smiled. "Hi, Atton," he said. "Wow, you're big. The last time I saw you, your mum was still pregnant with you."

The little boy smiled shyly. "Mum had another baby a while ago," he said. "Taris. She's my little sister."

Blaise grinned. "I've got a little sister too. As older brothers, we've got to take care of our sisters, you know that, right?" Atton nodded, and fled to hide behind Eduardo again.

Eduardo laughed and shrugged. "He's a bit shy," he explained. Moving forward, he tipped his arms outwards a bit and offered the bundle of blankets in his arms to Blaise. "Here's Taris. Want to hold her?"

"Sure," Blaise said. He took the baby in his arms and looked down at her face. She looked like Lilithe, the same eyes and nose, but the other features were unfamiliar. "What a lovely child." He tickled the baby's nose and she sneeze.

Zel nodded. "Yes, another beautiful baby to continue in the Zabini tradition," she said.

Blaise looked at Eduardo, who laughed and shuddered. Handing the baby back, he said, "I think I'd like to go see Mum's grave, if you don't mind." They shook their heads and motioned him towards the back hallway.

He walked outdoors and went through the familiar paths. The grass covering her grave was brighter than the rest and there were fresh lilies on the grave.

After staying by her grave for twenty minutes, he followed the path back to the house. A passing House Elf told him the family was in the drawing room and he went to find them.

"I saw Isabella a while ago," he said, sitting down across from Zel and casting a look around the room. "She said something happened. And I notice that June isn't here, even though she must have left Beauxbaton by this time. What's happened?"

Zel twisted in her seat. "Well, after she left school, we knew she was going off on a holiday with some friends. But then we got a letter from her and she said she was running away from us to be with some boy she met there. She's been missing for a long while, Blaise. We can't find her anywhere, not even through the Muggle officials."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "They've been missing for how long?"

Zachary spoke up. "Three years, almost. We tried to tell you, to get in touch with you, but by the time the owl reached where we heard you were; you were gone. And when even Hermione didn't know where to find you, we knew we would have to try to find June ourselves."

"And you're sure you don't know where they-" Blaise stood up suddenly. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?" Zel asked, but he was already out the door, with his wand at the ready.

Five corridors down and three left turns later, he found the source of the noise. June and Luc were standing in a room, straightening up.

"Now when we go in, we'll bring Quincy with us, in front, so that they won't-" He heard June say. She didn't get any further.

"_Expelliarmus_," Blaise shouted. Luc's wand flew from his hand. Blaise jerked his wand around again and Luc slammed into the wall. "Who the hell do you think you are, running away with my sister?" he hissed at the man, stalking over to him. June tried to say something, but he flicked his wand at her and she flew gently into a chair as her mouth snapped shut.

"Non, jamais je ne lui ferais mal!" Luc said rapidly.

"I don't care if you didn't hurt her; I know she's not hurt. I want to know who the hell you think you are, taking her off like that and only now coming back." Blaise dug the tip of his wand into Luc's neck. "I can _make_ you talk, you know, even without magic."

"Je suis son mari, le père de son enfant. Je vous en prie, ne me faîtes pas mal!" Luc said in a high tone, squirming away from Blaise.

Blaise turned to June. "Husband? What- You're not old enough to be married with a child!"

She glared at him until he undid the spell. "Of course I am, you idiot," she said when she was able to speak again. "Let Luc go; you're making Quincy cry." Blaise didn't let Luc go, but he let June up and she picked up the baby from his stroller. "Let him go _now_," she told Blaise, glaring at him.

Blaise sighed and undid the spell on Luc, moving away as the Frenchman staggered and gasped in air. "Sorry," he said.

"Sorry!" Luc said, his accent very heavy. "You were going to torture me!"

Blaise's mouth twitched. "No, I just wanted to make you think that." He half turned and then whirled back around, pinning Luc to the wall with his bare hands. "If you hurt my sister," he said in a low tone, "I will make you pay in blood. Do you hear me?"

"Oui, oui, j'ai compris!" Luc said, the terror coming back into his eyes. Blaise let him go as the family arrived.

"June! Luc!" Zachary said. His eyes fell on Quincy. "Who is this?"

June smiled and went over to her father, holding her son out. "Dad, this is Quincy, Luc and mine's son."

Blaise smiled and walked quietly away. Zel caught up with him just before he reached the front door and said, "You're leaving already?"

He bent down and kissed her cheek. "I'm going home. I'm tired. Come over anytime. By which I mean, of course, owl or call me beforehand and let me know. If I'm in a good mood, I might even let you decorate my flat. But at the moment I and very, very tired and I wish to sleep in my own bed." She hugged him and he squeezed her back. "I'll come around for some of my things before term starts and I start teaching. You'll see me then, too."

"All right." She sniffed and smiled at him. "See you."

"Bye," he said, walking out the door and Apparating home.

He spent that evening sitting in his chair with a glass of Firewhiskey, drowsily staring out of his window.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Please review and for anyone who doesn't speak French (I don't; I had to get these translated), here are some translations!

Translations:

1: _Non, jamais je ne lui ferais mal!_ - "No, I would never hurt her!"

2. _Je suis son mari, le père de son enfant. Je vous en prie, ne me faîtes pas mal!_ - "I'm her husband, the father of her child. Please, do not hurt me!"

3. _Oui, oui, j'ai compris!_ - "Yes, yes I understand!"

Thanks for reading, please review!


	3. Learning To Loosen Up

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first two chapters!

Also, much, much, much thanks to my wonderful beta reader James, who has stuck with me through everything.

No translations this chapter so please, enjoy!

* * *

**Three**

Around ten thirty that night, Blaise's phone rang. He looked up from his Firewhiskey, lurched out of his chair, tottered over to his phone and picked it up.

"Hello?" Blaise rubbed his eyes and held back a groan.

"Blaise? Hi," said the voice of Louise. He smiled.

"Hi. What's up?" He walked back to his chair and swirled the contents of his glass around.

"Not much. I had a horrible day at work — no one seems to understand coding the way I do and so they call me for every little emergency. Once, they called me to have me tell them all how to code boldface in HTML. I almost strangled them. How was your day?" He heard shuffling in the background and jingling, so he supposed she was just getting home.

"Went to visit an old professor of mine and then saw my family. Turns out my ex is dating my oldest friend and my sister ran off with a Frenchman and got married and had a baby after leaving school," he said.

"That's a bit of a shock to lay on you your first day back with the family," she said. "Fancy getting a drink? There's a great pub right downstairs…"

Blaise glanced at his glass. "I don't know; I've been up here since six drinking whiskey so perhaps I shouldn't…"

Louise laughed. "Whiskey? You haven't lived yet, mister. Come out with me and we'll see who can really drink who under the table."

He laughed. "If you want me to go you'll have to come get me. I'm far too lazy to pry myself up out of my comfortable chair to go to the pub."

"Then it's handy that I am in fact right outside your door," she said. There was quick succession of knocks and he laughed, hanging up and answering the door. "Come on, I don't like to drink alone." She grinned at him and tugged him out.

"Let me grab my coat," he replied, laughing. He took his coat off of the table and followed her out.

He headed towards the lift but she tugged him towards the stairs. "C'mon, the stairs are more fun when you're going down."

"Okay," he said, grinning. "So which pub is this, exactly?"

She stepped quickly down the stairs and her laughter floated up to him. "Whichever one we see first, of course!"

Six hours later, Blaise walked back into the apartment building teetering slightly, weaving his way to the stairwell banister. He began fumbling through his clothes as Louise made her way in and muttered "Aha!" once he found what he'd been looking for.

"What's that?" she asked as he mumbled something she couldn't hear.

He turned around; his eyes were suddenly completely clear and he stood up straight. "Nothing. Just a mint or something. Not quite sure."

She laughed. "Ah, okay then." Glancing at her watch, she groaned. "Oh, it's late! I've got to get to bed, but would you like to go out sometime? For a real dinner and less drinking?"

Blaise thought about this for a moment. "Sure," he said, grinning. "Is Friday good for you?"

"Perfect. See you then!" She took off up the stairs and he waited for the lift.

* * *

Three days later, after he had touched up his curriculum even more and exchanged a few letters with McGonagall, Blaise sat glaring at his television. He'd just gone out to buy it the previous day and, after some difficulty, managed to set it up. Now if he could only figure out how to turn it on... Pressing buttons randomly, he let out a whoop when he finally clicked it on. In the excitement, he also turned it back off.

He groaned. "Now I know why Hermione said TV is such a waste of time," he muttered. "First I can't figure out how to turn it on, and once it is on, I turn the thing off. Wonderful."

There was a knock on the door. He tossed the remote on the chair as he got up to answer it.

"You know, you take forever to answer the door," Zel said, as the door swung open. "I think you're too paranoid. Either that or you're always doing something else."

"Hi, Zel," he replied, laughing and hugging his sister. "What're you doing here?"

"I knew you weren't coming back to the manor before term started. Don't give me that look and don't say you were planning on it. I know you, Blaise. You're an almost exact copy of me and if I were you I wouldn't come within eight miles of that dusty old tapestry pit if I didn't have to." She flounced around him and sat down primly in his chair. "Father says hello, of course. He also said to tell you he'll be stopping by Hogwarts this winter, part of some sort of lecture for the students that McGonagall wanted them to hear."

Blaise stood by her and raised an eyebrow at her.

She gave him a look. "What?"

"You are in my chair," he said.

Zel smiled pleasantly. "Well, if you had more than one chair in this living room, I would sit somewhere else." She looked around and then gave him an expectant look. "Well?"

"Well, what?" he said, sitting next to her and squishing her into the armrest.

"Ow, Blaise you're not four anymore. Good lord, boy, what have you been eating? You're getting fat! Well, where is the rest of your furniture? I am assuming it's been ordered."

He looked up at her from where he'd landed after she pushed him off the chair. "I need more furniture? I have a table and chair for the kitchen, a chair for the living room and an end table, plus a bed and nightstand in my room. And a lamp."

"We mustn't forget the lamp, of course," Zel said sarcastically. She looked around the room again and sighed theatrically. "Get up then."

Blaise stood up, and said, somewhat suspiciously, "Why?"

"We're going to get you new furniture, of course," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You need more furniture. Be grateful that I'm letting you come and help. I could just decorate this place all on my own without asking you." She poked him. "Get your coat."

He muttered as he went into his room. "Where are Eduardo and the kids anyway? Shouldn't they be here to accompany us on this lovely shopping spree you're going to have with my money?"

He heard her laugh. "Glad you picked up that _I'm_ not paying for this," she said. "And Eduardo, Atton and Taris are at the zoo. The kids haven't been in at least a year and this zoo is much better than the one near the house in Italy. Of course, I've heard there are lovely zoos in America but I don't think it's worth a transcontinental flight just to see some monkeys and possibly a lion or two. We'd Portkey, but they're so damned expensive nowadays."

"Expensive? Portkeys? Why?" Blaise asked.

Zel pulled a face. "After the War it was deemed 'too dangerous' for people to Portkey everywhere, with the very specific details of where people end up. They said that the escaped Death Eaters could find out where people would arrive and attack them when they were still disoriented. But, that's old news. Let's go."

"Let's go, then." He walked out of his room and went to the door, opening it for her and following her through. They made their way downstairs and outside to get a cab.

When they entered their fifth department store, Blaise glared at Zel and said, "I cannot believe I let you suck me into shopping with you. Never again."

"You know, that's what Eduardo said the first three times I took him shopping. But then he discovered this wonderful thing Muggles have. I believe it's called a CD player. Now he just listens to it whenever we shop. The trouble is, I sometimes leave him behind in stores, which is just horrid. I have to backtrack, leave things on hold. Very annoying. I'm thinking of just hiring someone to shop with me instead of towing him along." As she said this, she was looking through the masses of furniture on display. "Oh, Blaise! Look at that one!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the maze of couches and ottomans until they reached a group of matching loveseats and sofas.

Blaise stared at the furniture. "My God, Zel. You actually found furniture that I like."

She patted his shoulder. "It's a gift. What do you think? You don't have to get the chair since you've already got one, so they'll probably take a good hundred and fifty pounds off the price."

He looked over at her where she was fairly jiggling with excitement. He sighed. "Where's my checkbook?"

* * *

They got back to his apartment and Zel sat down in his chair, fishing around a moment before pulling out the remote. "What's this?"

"Controller for the television," Blaise said. "I've no idea how it works."

Zel gave him a blank look. "What's a television?"

Blaise motioned towards the TV. "That thing. Like I said, no idea how to turn it on. Well, not without pushing the power button, but I want to learn to use the controller."

Fifteen minutes later, they were busy figuring out how to use the controller when there was a knock at the door. Blaise got up to answer it.

"Hi," Louise said, smiling at him. "Did you want to have dinner...oh. I see you have a guest. I'll come by some other time." She began to turn away.

"No, Louise, wait," he called after her. "This is my sister, Zel. Zel, this is Louise Nunn from upstairs. She's quite nice. Please, come in Louise."

Louise came in and Zel smiled at her. "Hi, it's nice to meet you," she said. "Blaise needs some nice neighbors. I am in constant fear he'll become a crotchety, anti-social old man like his favorite teacher."

Louise laughed. "Well, he's a lovely man. What are you doing?" she asked, seeing Zel poke a few more of the buttons on the controller.

"We're trying to figure out how to turn it on using this...thing," Zel said, frowning at the controller.

Louise looked at Blaise in surprise. "You don't know how to use a remote?"

Blaise felt his entire face turn red. "My family didn't have a television. My parents are...were...old-fashioned. We read. A lot."

Louise laughed. "Well then," she said, walking over to him and smiling sweetly, "I'll just have to teach you."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading! Now, please go review and tell me what you thought of the chapter!


	4. A Life Changing Occurrence

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Hey everyone, I am SO SORRY about taking so long to update. My beta, James, had to step down from his position and I've been looking for a replacement. Thankfully, I think I've found one.

This chapter was beta'd by my dear friend cuznhottie, but I believe the next few (and hopefully the rest of the fic) will be done by my very very dear friend Sneha, who has graciously agreed to beta for me. THANK YOU to all my beta readers and please enjoy this chapter. Again, I apologize for the long wait.

* * *

**Chapter Four **

August went by quickly, and Blaise woke up the day before he was due to go to Hogwarts, only to have it hit him all of a sudden that he had not packed. He jumped out of bed and started to rummage through his dresser drawers, throwing clothing and undergarments onto his bed, as another realization hit him.

"Oh shit," Blaise said, staring at the large mound of clothing. "I have no trunks."

When he had left England five years ago, it was with as much money as he could carry and a small duffel bag of clothing. Over the years, he'd had to abandon several apartments and wardrobes as he either pursued a Death Eater or was pursued himself. He'd left his belongings where they had been at Hogwarts and he assumed they were still there, unless they'd let students back in those rooms. The memory of first getting into those chambers washed over him and then it was gone, fleeting as the breeze that brushed his hair from his brow.

He kicked his nightstand and then hopped for a moment, having jammed his toe. "Where do you even get trunks?" he muttered. He'd never bought his own things. When his parents had bought his school supplies all he had done was go to get measured for clothing and the rest had just appeared—as if by magic—in his room the day before he'd had to leave.

Grabbing a pair of pants and a shirt, he went to the kitchen and maneuvered around his new table and chairs to make a quick breakfast sandwich. He ate it quickly and guzzled a cup of coffee before grabbing his coat and some money and Apparating to Zabini Manor.

As soon as he appeared there, something small and smelling of potato peelings rammed into his legs and he fell right onto his back. Soon after that, he heard running steps and someone came into the room, yelling.

"Atton if you do not get back here with that peeler I swear you are going to – oh, hello Blaise." His sister smiled at him and swept her slightly sweat-soaked bangs from out of her eyes. She peeled his small nephew—who was squealing, "Noooo! I don't wanna give it back! Uncle Blaise, _save me!_"—off of him and gave him a glare that caused the small boy's mouth to snap shut and his eyes to widen. Zel looked back at Blaise. "So what brings you back to our neck of the woods?"

"I just wanted to know if you know where it is you buy trunks," he replied. "I've got to pack to go to Hogwarts and I realized I don't have any luggage."

"What about all your things from New York?" Zel asked. "Didn't you bring those over?"

He shrugged. "Sold most of them, or gave them to Goodwill. Kept my favorite clothing items, some of the other things. Muggles, I might add, have the best aftershave I have ever encountered. Trunks, Zel. Trunks."

She laughed. "Right. Madame Malkin's has them."

Blaise grinned. "Thanks Zel, you're a lifesaver." He leaned over and kissed her cheek, ruffled Atton's hair and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

Appearing in the Leaky Cauldron, he stumbled a bit and an arm appeared to steady him. "Thank you," he said, turning to see who it was.

Hannah Abbott stood there, smiling at him. "Hi, Blaise."

Blaise coughed nervously and tugged his collar. "Hi, Hannah. It's, uh, been a while."

She laughed. "Yes. Five years is a long time, Blaise."

"Yes. Yes, it is. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to write to you, Hannah. Really, I am, and I hope you will forgive me." He felt his skin heat up mildly and then fade back to his normal cool countenance.

Hannah patted his arm gently. "Blaise, it's all right. I forgave you years ago. I realized you had to go, because otherwise you would've stayed. You're just that kind of a guy." She blushed suddenly and giggled nervously. "Besides, if you had stayed I'd never have gotten to know Dean as well as I did." She held out her left hand and with her right, drew aside her cloak to show her very swollen stomach. "We've been married for two and a half years now, and I'm due in three months."

Blaise grinned at her. "Congratulations," he said to her. He leaned over and hugged her quickly. "It was great to catch up, Hannah, and I'm sorry to rush but I'm in a great hurry. I'll write to you sometime, all right?"

"All right, Blaise." She smiled at him and returned his hug. "See you!"

He waved to her and made his way back to the room of trash cans. Tapping the bricks impatiently, he tapped his foot as he waited for the entrance to form. As soon as it did, he proceeded through it and wove his way through the crowd towards Madame Malkin's.

A bell rang over the top of the doorway when he went in. The place seemed smaller than it had before, dingier even. The large woman behind the counter bustled over to him and smiled widely. "Hello! What can I do for you? I'm Madame Malkin, at your service."

Blaise smiled back. "Blaise Zabini. I'm here to get a trunk or two. Probably two, depending on the size of your largest trunk, of course. I'm hoping to get 'Professor B. Zabini' embossed on the side, also, if you don't mind."

"Oh of course not," Madame Malkin said, her sharp eyes taking in every inch of him. "Though embossing is, of course, extra. Gertrude!" The head of a younger-than-middle-age woman appeared from the back room. "Please bring one of the largest trunks out so Mr. Zabini can assess it." Gertrude's head nodded and disappeared for a few minutes as Blaise stood awkwardly in the store, looking at the robes.

Belatedly, he realized he would need wizard's robes for teaching. Mentioning this to Madame Malkin, she called another of her assistants in and they took his measurements. He was assured that he would have three sets of robes right away, with the rest—he'd ordered twenty sets—arriving at Hogwarts within the fortnight. He chose the black robes that had discreet dark grey embroidery, the forest green robes that had golden brocade trim and a pair of robes that had a scarlet shirt and black pants with a black overrobe that was trimmed with sparse silver embroidery to be the ones he took with him and he took a seat while they were bringing the trunk out.

The trunk turned out to be too small to hold all his things, but Blaise examined it carefully and decided two of them would hold his clothes and books. He ordered two of them.

After being ushered to the counter and filled out the bills, he wrote out several instruction notes to the Gringotts goblins about paying Madame Malkin. He left the store towing both freshly-embossed trunks and holding his rush-made robes. Seeing that Florean Fortescue's was open again, he stopped in and sat down to have a sundae.

A flash of bright blonde hair caught his eye and he saw Lavender Brown rushing by only to stop at almost colliding with a person who had long black hair. "Parvati!" He heard Lavender say. He turned quickly so that his back was facing them, but so he could still hear them. "Parvati, of all the luck. I was just in Madame Malkin's and just _guess_ who she said had just left not two seconds before I got there!"

"Ooh, who, Lavender?"

"Guess!" Lavender almost whined.

He heard Parvati dither around for a minute until finally saying, "I don't know. Who?"

Lavender took a deep breath, clearly relishing the moment. "None other that Himself!" He heard Parvati take in a sharp breath. "That's right. Blaise Zabini is back in town! He was just in there, ordering a ton of robes and two trunks." Parvati squealed.

"Oh my God! It's been five years!" She paused. "I wonder if Hermione knows..."

Blaise held his breath, waiting for Lavender's response. He didn't have to wait long. "Of course she does," Lavender said in a dismissing tone. "Question is, what have they been doing since he got back?" They giggled and their voices began to fade into the distance. Deciding he'd been in Diagon Alley long enough, he dug into his pockets and left a few Sickles on the table before grasping his new trunks and Apparating back to his apartment.

Once he was back, he pulled arranged the trunks so that he could easily pack. He put all his Muggle clothes on the bottom and carefully draped his robes over top the Muggle clothing.

After his clothing had all been packed, he went into the living room and packed all of his books, parchment, quills and ink up. Coincidentally, as he closed and locked the trunk, there was a knock on his door. Opening it, he saw Louise standing there.

"C'mon," she said grinning widely. "We're going out. Get your coat and keys." As soon as he did, she pulled him out of his apartment and they were down the hall and out of the door.

* * *

The next morning he woke up with a raging headache. He raised his left hand to his forehead and felt a cool substance. Lowering it, he saw a gold wedding ring on his third finger. He felt his mouth drop open a bit. Staring at Louise's sleeping form next to him, he saw a piece of paper on the nightstand on the other side of Louise. He reached over her and picked it up. The top of it read '_Marriage License_'.

Looking around, he saw that the covers had been torn off the bed and clothes were strewn everywhere. He shifted slightly and Louise stretched out, yawning. He felt her hand on his bare back and turned to see her smiling sleepily at him.

"Good morning, darling. You were great," she said. "Really. Went on forever. Haven't had so much fun in ages."

"Louise," he said, surveying his room and seeing that his trunks were, in fact, still packed, "Did we get married?

The sleep left her eyes and she said, slowly, "I- I don't remember." She glanced down at her left hand. "I… I guess we did. I mean, we did have a lot to drink."

Blaise leaned back against the headboard. "Oh shit. I'm assuming we consummated it, due to the state of my room. Another question: are you on birth control?"

"No," Louise said, sitting up, giving him a puzzled look. "Why?"

Blaise gulped. "I'm not really well-versed in the male end of contraceptives," he said. "I've not had a very great deal of experience and I think last night I was drunk enough to forget everything I knew. Besides that, and I hate to ask this, even having had three sisters, but how long ago did you start your period?"

Louise stared at him, and her eyes unfocused for a moment as she thought. "Two weeks ago. Why?"

He clenched his hands to stop them shaking. "I don't really remember much about the female anatomy that I studied years ago, but from what I remember, ovulation takes place about two weeks after you start your period."

She leaned back against the headboard. "Oh shit."

"Yes." Blaise moved off the bed and picked up his underwear, pulling them on. He was about to say something else when there was a knock on the bedroom door. He walked over and opened it, surprised that someone would be there so early. "Zel? What are you doing here?"

Zel rubbed her temples for a moment before answering. "Fuck. So it wasn't a dream."

He felt any sort of gladness that came with his sister's arrival evaporate. "Zel, what's wrong?"

"Last night I got a Floo call from… someone, I forget who at the moment, who works with the district who said she saw you greasing the palm of some sort of crooked superintendent and being issued with a marriage license at four in the morning, whilst you were dead drunk. I Apparated over to stop you, but you'd already gone through the proper procedures. I got there in time to make sure you and your new bride got home without you giving her any… unpleasant surprises." She raised her eyebrows.

"I was that drunk?" he asked, feeling very, very shaken.

"You were drunker than Mum was at the family reunion in eighty-nine," she informed her. "Is Louise in there?"

"Yes, she's still in bed. Zel, what do I do? I can't tell her, I can't be _married_ to her! I have to go to Hogwarts this afternoon, I can't handle this!" Blaise said, feeling the pinpoints of stress pricking into his neck and shoulders. "Why am I such an idiot? Why did I do this? When did I become so, so… _irresponsible_?"

Zel patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, brother dear, I'll take care of everything, okay?" She gave him a reassuring smile. "You will go back to Hogwarts and I'll take care of Louise. We'll find out what's the situation and then we'll resolve it, all right?"

He sighed deeply. "Thank you, thank you, thank you Zel." He hugged her tightly. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"No. And by the way, you do owe me a lot now. I don't think you'll ever work through it," she told him, voice muffled. "Now let me go, I must speak to your wife."

He did, and she moved past him to go sit with Louise, who was now fully dressed. "Now, Louise," she said, "you understand Blaise cannot be married right now, it's just not possible."

Louise stared at her. "How can you say that? We were consenting, both of us! We signed the paper!" She looked at Blaise. "Is this what you were planning? Get married to me and then have your sister 'take care' of me and the whole thing?"

Blaise stared at her in shock. "No! It's just… well, I never planned on getting married to you. To anyone, really." He heard Zel snort. "Shut up. The point is, I'm not, well, I'm not ready!"

Louise glared at him. "And you think I am? I'm only twenty-six you know! What makes you think that I'm ready to be a mother? That is so typical of men, always assuming-"

"Both of you, shut up!" Zel said, giving them both glares. "Now, we don't know if your situation is that serious yet, Louise. Until we can be _sure_ that you're… pregnant, let's not jump to conclusions. I am going to stay here with you and we will talk things over until we can really have suspicions that you are pregnant."

"Why can't we go to the doctor's now?" Louise asked frantically. "I mean, wouldn't it be best if we knew right away?"

Zel sighed. "Because you can't really tell if someone's pregnant until after they've missed their period and because the egg and sperm haven't fertilized until it's been at least twenty-four hours. Now, I will stay with you for two months and then we will go to the doctor's once we can have a very firm suspicion that you are, in fact, pregnant. If you are, we'll pay for anything you need." Blaise nodded as she gave them both a firm, level look. "Can we all agree on that?"

"Yes," Blaise and Louise replied.

"Good. But, hypothetically speaking, if you are, indeed, pregnant, Louise, what do you want to do? Are you going to keep it or are you going to have an abortion?" Blaise started to object at the last, but Zel gave him a look. "You got drunk, married her and slept with her," she told him. "This is her choice."

Louise looked uncomfortable as they both looked at her. "I don't want to have the baby if it's going to be born into a family that doesn't want it," she said.

"But I do want it!" Blaise exclaimed. Both Louise and Zel stared at him, vastly surprised.

"You do?" Louise asked him, while Zel just stared.

"I don't want to be married, but I do want this baby," he said, fidgeting a bit. Louise's expression changed a bit and she nodded after a moment.

"Well, then. I don't want this baby, but you do. You said you'd be willing to pay for everything?" Louise asked Zel.

Zel nodded. "Our family will pay for all the doctor's bills, everything. Anything you want us to pay for."

Louise's hand fluttered a bit as she placed it on her lower stomach. "Then, I'll have this baby. But I'm not going to keep it. I'm not ready to be a mother. It's yours, Blaise, but one other condition."

"Name it," he said, a bit eagerly.

She looked at him and she seemed a bit scared, nervous even. "I don't want a child now, but, if I ever want to see it, I'd like to be able to spend time with it."

Blaise nodded. "Absolutely, anytime."

Louise nodded slowly. "All right then. I'll be downstairs then." She stood up and walked out.

Back pressed up against the wall, he slid down and sat on the floorboards, face pressed into his hands. "I'm going to be a dad," he said, voice muffled.

"You don't know that," Zel told him.

"No, I don't," he replied, eyes appearing over the edge, "but I do sort of wish it."

She laughed. "You were always a very paternal sort." Her mouth twisted into a wry little smile. "Except, of course, with Georgio Vittornelli's son, Santino."

He groaned. "Don't remind me."

"You kicked that kid so hard he flew across the room," she went on, laughing. "Thank God he wasn't hurt, otherwise we'd be broke for how much Georgio would've sued us for."

"Oh shut up," Blaise said, laughing a bit himself. "You will write to me the instant you know, won't you?"

"Of course," Zel replied, smiling. "Unless of course I come to visit you instead."

* * *

**A/N: **Quite a shocker, isn't it? I hope you are looking forward to the next few chapters, and please review! 


	5. The New Arrival

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything else I might accidentally reference in here. Please, no shooting me.

**A/N:** Again, I'm taking forever to update and I apologize greatly! I've been having some beta troubles, as you all know, and finally have gotten a wonderful beta reader, Naycit, and am progressing slowly with Resolving because I have started school now. More in the post-story notes. D

* * *

**Chapter Five **

**The New Arrival**

After he had gotten dressed and put his black robes into a bag to change into, he called a taxi and went on his way to King's Cross. He got there at ten thirty, and it took him fifteen minutes to get both trunks loaded onto a trolley and pushed to Platform 9 ¾. Once on the platform, he put his trunks away and went into a compartment to change.

Blaise sat down and looked at the compartment. "Five years and nothing's changed," he mused, looking at the seat covers. "Same tatty material. Same slightly grungy metal ledge on the window." He settled back into the seat. "And same very comfortable seats. I think that I am due for a nap…"

He was woken up from his troubled slumber by the door to the compartment opening. Immediately, he closed his eyes again, wanting to hear what they said before he "woke up".

"Nicole, why do we always get stuck in here?" one boy complained.

"Yeah, why do you always want to sit in this compartment?" said another boy.

"Because," said the slightly scornful voice of a girl, who must be Nicole, "it's a lucky compartment. Plus no one else ever wants to sit here, so it's got more room."

"Yeah, no one wants to sit here. That's why _he's_ there, dead asleep," said the second boy sarcastically.

"Who is he, anyway?" asked the first boy. "The new DA professor?"

"He can't be the new DA professor, Geoff," said the second boy. "They already said that the DA professor is a woman."

"He's got to be the Charms professor," Nicole said.

"Why's that?" both boys said.

"Because Professor Lovegood said last year, in her last lesson, that she wasn't coming back because she wants to spend time with her kids. Besides, Professor Snape mentioned something about a Blaise Zabini in his lesson on the Confusion potion."

"What did he say?" the second boy asked.

"You know, Rory, if you paid attention, you would know that," Nicole said.

"Why should I when you always do?" Rory asked, laughing.

Nicole groaned. "Ha. Ha. Ha. Snape was going over everyone's potions, and when he got to Malcolm McBurney's, he said that he'd never seen a worst potion, and that the only person he'd ever seen make it to his exacting standards was Blaise Zabini."

"Whoever he is," Rory said dismissively. "But how do you know he's Blaise Zabini?"

Nicole laughed. "His name's engraved on his trunk, stupid."

"Right you are," Rory said airily. "So what else do you know about him, Miss Know-It-All?"

She sniffed. "Remember the lecture that guest speaker gave? You know, the Auror, Mr. Malfoy?" Blaise stiffened slightly at the name Malfoy. The students didn't notice. "Well, he was talking about how he didn't know anyone else who was more dedicated to the eradication of Dark Wizards that his old friend, Blaise Zabini. Said that Blaise left home right after the War to hunt down the few who knew something about him and his sister."

"Yeah right," Rory said, and Geoff made a scoffing sound. "You just made that up."

"I did not! Nicole said. "I took notes and was reading them last night because they were so interesting!" Blaise snorted. "What was that?" Knowing that his time for eavesdropping was over, he made a great show of stretching and yawned a bit before opening his eyes. He heard a slight sigh from Nicole and then a cough.

"Hello," Blaise said, smiling. Another sigh. "I'm Professor Zabini."

"Hi," Geoff said after a moment when no one else spoke, reaching over and holding his hand out to shake. "Nice to meet you. I'm Geoffrey Alexander. These are Rory Eamonn and Nicole Ahmed. We're in Gryffindor, fifth years." Geoffrey was a somewhat tall, solemn-looking boy with straight, classical features. His hair was dark and obstinately curly, brushing the tops of his ears. He had very dark eyes, almost – but not quite – black.

"I'm the new Charms professor," Blaise replied. "It's been a while since I've been at school, but I graduated a few years ago." He turned, feeling someone staring. It was Rory.

Rory seemed to be almost as tall as Geoff, with bright strawberry hair and clear, green eyes. He was grinning, with one side of his mouth tilting at a different angle, giving him a rakish look in a lopsided way. "Is it true?" he asked.

Blaise looked at him, amused. "Is what true?"

"Did you really go after all those Dark Wizards on your own?" Rory asked. "Like Mr. Malfoy said?"

He laughed. "Draco has always had a tendency to over-exaggerate, but yes, I did leave quite soon after the War to go in search of a few people."

"Why?" Nicole asked, her dark eyes shining. Nicole had long, wavy, dark brown hair with soft, rounded features and a tiny button nose.

Blaise pinched his lips together for a moment. "They were wanted criminals," he said after consideration, "and I had to bring them to justice. That, and I couldn't bear to be around all of my friends after the War. I had things to think about."

"What sort of things?" Rory asked. "You were a War hero! I heard Professor McGonagall saying once that your family helped to repair the school!"

"Some things are a bit more important than repairing the school. After the War, everyone looked back on the things they did and had to examine them, to see if they were right in doing what they did. Not only the ones on our side, but the people who fought for Lord Voldemort," Blaise said. He looked at Rory and raised his eyebrows. "Don't you have to get changed for school?"

The kids glared at him. "Yes," Geoff admitted. "But we'd like to hear more about where you were."

Blaise laughed. "I'm sure you will. Not now, of course. But once school starts I will probably include things in my classes from my years away. I'll go speak with the driver and I'll see you at the school this week."

"Are you coming up to Hogwarts with us?" Nicole asked as he stepped out. He leaned back in to answer her.

"No. I have something to get in Hogsmeade. I will, however, be at the feast. Have a good trip." He smiled at them and was gone down the hallway.

When the train pulled into the station, he arranged for his belongings to be taken to his rooms and started off down the path towards Hogsmeade. Halfway to the village, the path became more and more overgrown. He smiled in remembrance, thinking about a time, five years before, when people were coming through this path on a regular basis, carrying goods and medicines. Those times were over; the castle was rebuilt and Lilithe was gone.

Gone, Blaise mused, but certainly not forgotten. At the back of his mind lurked the ever-present imprint of his sister's twisted mind. When he had absorbed her powers and life force all those years ago, a tiny grain of her soul slipped into him. She lived on, slightly, through him. For a time, before he got out of the rubble of the school, she controlled his body, compelling him to get her body out. He had, and she'd faded away to only an imprint, her soul passing on to wherever she went. There was no longer a risk of her possessing him again, but certainly there was a risk of him giving in to the urges the imprint gave him, to use his powers in the ways she had, to gain power at the cost of pain and suffering of those she loved, and the loss of her sanity, and eventually, her life.

Hogsmeade loomed from behind a copse of trees, and he shook Lilithe out of his head, walking towards the bookstore. He'd forgotten to pick up a copy of _The Second War_, the only book – so far – to be published on the second war with Lord Voldemort. If it didn't have the author it did, there would be no books. But the book was published because it was written by a true War Hero – Hermione Granger. He wanted to see what she had to say about the War, about the roles all the different people played, and what she foresaw for the future of wizardkind.

The bell above the bookstore's door jingled when he opened it. He quickly moved into the Non-Fiction section and went right to the book, slipping it off the shelf and paying for it as quick as he could. It seemed longer than even he thought he could write on the subject on the Second War.

With the jingling door closing behind him, he checked his watch. He was five minutes late. If he walked quickly, he could make it back to the castle in ten more minutes, though he would certainly miss the Sorting. Blaise laughed quietly. He'd never cared much for the Sorting Hat and its messages. Glancing around him before he left Hogsmeade, he caught sight of his hair in a shop window. It was brushing the collar of his over robe with its loose, dark curls. He looked away from it and perused the rest of his face and realized how pale his eyes were with these robes. They seemed like someone had put a slight amount of blue into ice. Almost crystal, they were so pale. He laughed and turned back to looking at the road.

The winding pathway from Hogsmeade that lead directly back to the castle was exactly the same as he remembered it: an unpaved, dirty road that was currently almost all mud and that was clinging obstinately to his shoes. He sighed and started searching through his mind for the cleaning spells he knew that he had been taught so that, once he got to the school, he could be _slightly_ presentable to his new students.

He pulled the book out and started to skim through the first chapter. It was describing how the War started and her experiences in the Department of Mysteries, and went on to the sixth year, and the third chapter was talking about her seventh year's search for the Hogwarts secret of the wards.

There was a short paragraph that mentioned him.

_Blaise Zabini was the Head Boy to my Head Girl. We were very good friends for the first half of the year and then dated for the rest of the year. His input to our project that year was invaluable, and I could not have done it without him. Shortly after the Second War, he disappeared and remains missing. Besides being told that he is, indeed, alive, I'm not sure where he went. _

He paused at that for a moment and then flicked back to the cover and flipped a few pages to find the dedication. When he found it, he stood still for a moment after reading it. It said:

_This book is dedicated to the Missing One. You're gone but not forgotten. Come back soon._

Blaise blinked for a few moments and smiled. Then he suddenly looked down to see what time it was. He'd only gone a short distance and he'd left Hogsmeade five minutes ago. After a moment of considering the amount of time it had taken him to walk the distance he'd gone, he eyed his watch again and started to run.

He got to Hogwarts about six minutes later and stood outside the doors to the Great Hall for a moment, catching his breath. Suddenly, he realized that he had no idea where the teachers generally entered to sit at the High Table. He strained his ears for a moment and heard the last moments of the Sorting and then a clamor as students greeted each other and then silence as the Headmistress's speech began. Muttering a cleaning spell, he waited for the right moment, before pushing the Great Hall doors open in the middle of McGonagall's opening statement.

"-Hogwarts another year," McGonagall was saying until the doors banged open and Blaise strode through. "And I will now introduce to you your new Charms professor, Blaise Zabini." She glowered at him. Blaise ignored her.

He was walking quickly through the gap in between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, ignoring the whispers from the shocked students, his robes flowing behind him, creating a very dramatic effect. After he was three-quarters the way up to the High Table, he finally looked for Hermione. She was sitting to the right of McGonagall and her face was paper-white, and she looked beyond shocked; she looked as if she was seeing someone coming back from the dead. Blaise risked flashing a grin at her, and she smiled back at him – as if by reflex – before her face snapped into an instant, disapproving frown.

As it turned out, the only open seat was between her and Snape, who, when Blaise glanced over at him, looked halfway between amused and smug. He walked around the edge of the High Table and took his seat and waited through McGonagall's speech and until the student's clamor started again before turning to Hermione.

"Hello, Hermione," Blaise said.

Hermione turned carefully to him. He took the opportunity to study her carefully. Her features hadn't changed much. She had, though, changed her haircut. It was now shorter and she must have used a new potion on it, for it was a lot less bushy, though the bushiness was not completely gone. She was also slightly thinner, as if she didn't have time enough in the day to teach, write, and eat three complete meals. "Blaise," she said to him, finally, after taking the opportunity to study him, too.

"How've you been?" he asked, venturing carefully. Answers to this question could vary in many ways, and he had experienced all of them.

"How have I been?" she said. He flinched instinctively. "Blaise, we've known each other for years. Well, almost years." She smiled pleasantly and her manner remained friendly and detached. "However, I don't think the dinner table is the best place to catch up. How about you drop by my room tomorrow night and we'll chat?"

He stared at her for a moment. This was completely unlike Hermione; he'd never known her to be this emotionally removed. "Sure," Blaise replied. "I'll join you after dinner?"

Her smile widened. "Perfect. Now, I really do have to speak with the Headmistress, so if you'll excuse me…" She scooted her chair away from his and began to speak with McGonagall in low, furtive tones.

Blaise turned to Snape, who gave him a very pleased smile. "I suppose she's gone through a few personality changes since I left," he said slowly.

Snape laughed. He sounded entirely pleased as he said, "Then you would be quite wrong. This year will be very entertaining, I think."

"Yes, entertaining for you and you alone," Blaise grumbled. "I, however, will probably be murdered tomorrow night. Don't you care?"

"No," Snape replied. "Your father has heirs; my job of protecting the Zabini children has been fulfilled. Go get yourself killed by your scorned lover but make sure to let me know so I can watch." He smiled, blithely smug.

Blaise started to turn back to his dinner, but Snape interrupted him again. "Oh, by the way, Zabini, I have one final surprise," Snape said, almost airily. Blaise looked at him cautiously.

"What?" he asked.

Snape's face split into something that resembled a sadistic smile. "I've become quite overrun by the students in Slytherin lately. I'm getting older, and I realized I would, in fact, like some personal time occasionally and some extra time away from the students who plague my life not unlike fleas do to a rat. So I spoke to the Headmistress this afternoon and you are going to take my place as the Head of Slytherin."

Blaise stared at Snape, slightly open-mouthed. "You- I- No!" Snape nodded. "Shit!" Blaise exclaimed. He heard a slight tutting sound from Hermione. He ignored it. "Shit! I can't do that! You- You're supposed to let me know in advance!"

Snape's smile grew – if possible – more sadistic. "I did. An hour is plenty enough in advance. Have fun with the children, Zabini. I'm sure you are more than capable of handling them. Good luck." With that, he got up and left the table, disappearing out of the Great Hall. Blaise glared at him until he disappeared.

Dinner finally ended and Hermione left before he could say anything to her. He left the Great Hall and ventured down to the kitchens, where he enquired of a House Elf where his chambers were. After the Elf told him, he thanked her and walked off, looking forward to a nice, soft bed and a nice night of sober sleep.

It turned out that his chambers weren't far away from the chambers he and Hermione had stayed in that year, so long ago now. Deciding to go there the next evening or the evening after, he went into his chambers.

They were small but comfortable. He had a study, which the main door opened to. His books had been unpacked and placed on the shelves. A desk was in the corner, large and dark wooded, comfortably sturdy and dark in its own way. Tapestries of the Slytherin crest hung on the bare places of the walls, and a fire roared in the fireplace behind his desk. The study opened into a slightly smaller room, his bedroom. The bed was fairly large and it had his old comforter, from Zabini Manor, on it. He peered into the closet to find his robes hanging up there, and then opened the dressed drawers to see his Muggle clothes were unpacked and placed in there. He smiled and took off his robes and hung them up, pulling on a pair of pajamas and crawling between the sheets. He flicked his wand at the candles and they went out as he rolled over and went to sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** I've been thinking about this for a while, and I opened a community at LiveJournal for this series of fics, so go to my profile and the link to it will be there. I hope you all enjoy it. The original plan for it was a place for you all to go and ask questions or debate about Resolving and its future sequel, but I'll leave most everything up to you. D Besides that, I hope you all review! 


	6. Blaise's First Day of School

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** It's taken forever for this chapter, I know, but I've been rather busy with other things and actually - gasp! - a social life somewhat that I haven't updated. I am so sorry. It won't happen again. In the meantime, enjoy!

* * *

Six 

Blaise's First Day of School

Blaise woke up the next morning and stretched lazily for a moment before remembering where he was. He quickly looked at his watch and sighed, relieved slightly. Only 7:30. Half an hour until breakfast was over. Then he froze again. What about the schedules? All the students needed schedules, and he didn't have their schedules made up! He jumped out of bed and went into the other room, praying the schedules were on his desk. They were. On top of the stack of neatly piled schedules was a note.

_Zabini, _

_First day of teaching and you're not up yet? Tsk, tsk. What will Granger say to you about efficiency and looking good in front of your students? Here are your students schedules, now get to breakfast. And don't forget your clothing, I don't wish to go blind yet. _

_--Snape _

Laughing, Blaise went back into his bedroom and dressed very quickly in green robes, transferring the wedding ring he had put in the pocket of his black robes into one on his green robes, casting a Disentangle Hair charm as he dashed out of the door and down to the Great Hall. Before he went in, he straightened himself up, arranged his face to a cool, impersonal look and entered the Hall.

He walked over to the Slytherin table and handed out schedules, according to the name on the paper, asking who was who as he went down the table. Once he was finished, he went up to the High Table and sat down to eat.

"My, aren't we a late riser," Snape said, eating his porridge.

"Very funny," Blaise replied, putting toast on his plate. "Why didn't you wake me when you put the schedules in my room?"

Snape gave him a tiny, amused smile. "You looked so peaceful; I didn't want to disturb you. Besides, you're much more amusing if you're late and annoy Granger. Just look at her. I don't think I saw her so annoyed since Sibyll told her she had a dead aura and would die alone."

Blaise snorted into his coffee. "She said that?"

"Right before Granger told her that 'you're only predicting your own future, you drunken old bat!'" Snape replied.

Blaise laughed. "I knew Hermione had it in her."

Snape rolled his eyes, and said, "Then you should speak to her before your head explodes from her staring at you." He nodded in Hermione's direction, and Blaise turned to look at her. She was staring at him and blushed when he turned to catch her eye.

"Good morning, Blaise," she said.

"Morning, Hermione," he replied.

"I trust you slept well." She raised an eyebrow at him, sipping her coffee. He felt his face grow hotter.

"I forgot to set my alarm. Won't happen again, trust me." Blaise smiled at her, and she smiled back unexpectedly.

"Good. I saw you giving out the schedules, thank you. _Severus_," she said loudly, giving Snape a pointed look which he ignored, continuing on with his breakfast and picking up a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ to read, "neglected to inform anyone but the Headmistress that he was giving up his Head of House job to you, so needless to say, I was a bit nervous when I saw the Slytherin's hadn't gotten their schedules yet when I came in."

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a wondering, amused look. "Why were you worried? I thought it was Snape who was Deputy Headmaster, not you. There's no need for you to worry over the administrative details, Hermione. Looks like you haven't changed quite as much as I thought."

The smile on her face froze, and she gave him a cold glare. "How would you know how I've changed, Blaise? You haven't been here. Not for _five years_. So don't you dare to presume you know anything about me. That time passed; I'm a different person now, with different interests. I suppose you've heard I was seeing Draco Malfoy?" He nodded, shifting into a more comfortable position in his chair. She held up her left hand. On the ring finger was a very large and _very_ sparkling diamond ring. "Well, he proposed. We're getting married next summer. I expect you'll get an invitation at some point. Excuse me, I have to go. _Some_ of us recognize our duties in being the Head of a House and what that represents." Hermione got up and left, her back stiff and face pinched and annoyed.

He finished his breakfast quickly and quietly, despite many attempts by Snape to lure him into conversation. After finishing, it was ten minutes before classes were due to start, so he left the table to go wait in the classroom and prepare himself for the upcoming lessons.

Once he arrived in the classroom, he smiled at it when he stepped inside. After five years of moving about, houses and apartments that he hadn't been certain he'd return to and a life filled constantly with stress and anxiety, it was both the most calming and exciting thing to be back in the one place that had been completely stress- and worry-free that he had ever lived in.

Running his fingers over the old, scratched wood as he walked towards the front of the room and his desk, his smile grew. He ducked behind a tapestry to find the door to his office. Opening it, he found all of his office things and curriculum information on his desk, with the books that his students would be using set out on the shelves. Now his smile was transformed into a grin, and he sighed happily. Then his thoughts drifted to Hermione and her engagement. She was getting married. The thought hit him hard. As much as he had ever dallied with other women (not that there had been many; when you're on the run for your life, romance is not on the top of your list), Hermione was never far from his thoughts.

It wasn't that she was more beautiful – in fact, she was quite plain, compared to some of the women that he had pursued and that had pursued him. If she had beauty (which, he was inclined to think, she did), it wasn't a showy sort. You had to look for Hermione's beauty, under her surface. It took forever, though, since she was a tough nut to crack, but once you had, it was completely worth it. Thinking about his relationship with her – had it been a relationship? After all, they had been only seventeen, which was so young – it wasn't long until he came to the decision that he was in love with her, and always had been. It wasn't quite the shock he expected. He supposed he'd always known it, somewhere, subconsciously.

She'd balanced him out, in a way. Been an anchor for him, when his family had been torn apart, literally right in front of him. He felt so much at peace around her, just talking to her, being with her. She made him so comfortable with himself, when he had grown up being displeased with who and what he was. Blaise Zabini, a mind-reader. His life turned completely around when he moved into those chambers with her. He stepped out of being another minion of Draco Malfoy and into being himself, Head Boy, and the virtual second savior of wizard-kind, if they had known about the threat his sister had been.

Glancing at his watch, he swore under his breath. Eight thirty-three. The students would be waiting outside the door. He grabbed the book that the first years would be using and left his office, placing the book on his desk, and went to the door.

The students lined up outside the classroom door looked mildly annoyed and somewhat frightened. He motioned them in and strode ahead of them to the front of the classroom and his desk.

"Hello, I'm your Charms professor, Blaise Zabini," he said, writing his name on the chalkboard in his neat, cramped writing. "You can call me Professor Zabini. This is Beginning Charms. For the next hour and fifteen minutes you will be introduced to one of the most useful subjects you will ever need to know." He turned to face them and saw wide eyes and some quivering looks. One girl, he noticed, was shivering. He hoped it was because of the cold. Deciding he was being far too brisk, he smiled at the children and saw them relax. "But for now, I'll just call the roll."

Picking up the roll sheet, he started reading off of it. "Amsden, Reed?"

One of the boys in the back, who was wearing a Gryffindor uniform said, "Here."

"Yates, Brennen?"

A boy in Ravenclaw colors said, "Here."

"Lind, Tate?"

This time a Slytherin. "Here." He nodded to him, and the slight, dark boy nodded back.

"Pierson, Tatum?"

"Here," a girl wearing a bronze-and-blue tie said.

Calling the rest of the roll, he memorized who was who and in what House they were. Gage Fletcher was another Gryffindor, sitting in the back with Reed Amsden. Audrey Calder was a Gryffindor also, but ignored her fellow Housemates, instead sitting with the female Ravenclaws, Tatum Pierson, Vala Warren and Baxter Ansley. Glenda Fleming, a Hufflepuff, was ignored by the other girls and sat instead with Wallace Thorpe, a Gryffindor, who was sitting quietly away from his Housemates.

He let them all settle in before starting on the beginning of his lecture. "Since this is the first lesson, we probably won't be doing much magic, so please, put your wands away, and if we have time at the end of the class, I'll teach you a trick or two.

"Charms," he began, "will probably get you out of many sticky situations. I've been most interested in Charms since I was at Hogwarts, and as it's only been five years since I left, it's not as if my interests changed much. In one month of those five years, I've used the spells that the subject of Charms will teach you more than you will probably use in all your seven years here at Hogwarts. But you always have to remember: Magic has a price. Some spells will leave you feeling fine, not tired at all, but having shortened your life by fifteen years. Others will leave you bedridden for months, not having taken any of your time away but the time spent recovering.

"I always liked Charms more than anything else, mostly because I was the best at it." He laughed, and a few of the braver students laughed along with him. "Other than being the best at it, I was quite fond of it. It was actually really fun and the charms were really interesting. I remember once when I was away writing a thesis on the Engorgement Charm because I was very, very bored." He noticed one of the student's hands was up. "Yes… Amsden?"

Reed, who looked like a troublemaker to Blaise, nodded. "Why were you bored, sir? I thought you were traveling on a good time."

Blaise laughed. "No, I was doing some work that sprung up after the Second War. I had fallen off a cliff while in the Philippines, and while in the hospital, I was so bored I just wrote one out from memory. I sent it to an old professor of mine, and he told me it was the worst thing he'd ever read. Of course, the next time I heard from him, it was accompanied by a Charms theoretical discourse magazine that he'd had my paper published in."

The second after he mentioned the article being published, Baxter Ansley's hand shot up. Blaise nodded at her. "You were published?"

Blaise nodded again. "Yes, but just in this not very well known magazine. Mostly to keep publicity away from me, since I'm a very private person and I didn't want any attention on my name while I was away, either. But that has nothing to do with what we're doing now, so please, let us continue on with our lesson."

An hour later, the lesson was done, homework was handed out, and Blaise sat down to relax for a few moments before the next class began.

The fifteen-minutes break flew by as if only seconds. Soon – too soon for Blaise's standards, didn't these kids need time to relax or something? – there was a knock on the classroom door and he called to whoever it was, "Come in."

Students came filing in, including the three he had rode with on the ride from King's Cross, who sat in the very front row, even though the boys looked very put out by that. He smiled at the whole class and repeated the introductory speech he'd given the first years. After finishing it, he glanced down at his desk and said, "I suppose I shall now call roll."

He called most of the names, including the kids he knew from the train and then came to one that made him raise his eyebrows and quirk the corners of his mouth in an amused smile. "Alastair Moody?"

A boy who was lounging around in the back with his feet on the desk raised his hand lazily. He had sandy red hair and bright blue eyes. His face looked remarkably like Mad Eye's might, but without all the scarring and the missing bits. "Here," he said.

Blaise reached down to his desk and picked up his wand, flicking it at Alastair. His feet shot off the table and instantly glued themselves to the floor. Alastair yelped and tried to move his feet. "Stop it," Blaise ordered, and the boy ignored him, still trying to free his feet. "The spell will wear off when class is over, don't be so sensitive. What would Mad-Eye say?"

Alastair glared at him. "I dunno what my granddad would say, but he bloody well wouldn't glue my feet to the floor!"

Blaise laughed. "Then you don't know your grandfather, boy. You should've seen what his impersonator did to an old schoolmate of mine. And if that was the imposter, only think what the real thing would've done." He twiddled his wand between his fingers as he surveyed the class. "I might be right in thinking that Professor Lovegood was a tad less strict that I am. Wonderful at Charms, I know, but definitely less strict. If I find that any of you have been misbehaving in my class you will receive not only detention, but thirty points will be taken from your House. Misbehavior includes talking during my lessons so you two in the back, take heed." Two girls who had been giggling in the back of the classroom grew quiet as he addressed them.

"Charms is a serious subject, for all the name of it bestows the image of fairies and frippery. I take it extremely seriously, and so should you. Not only can you use it to cook and prepare clothing items, you can use it for virtually every sort of magic that is possible, except, perhaps, some types of Old Magic.

"This year you will be tackling some of the hardest spells that, when I was a student, we didn't take until seventh year, if that. My reason for teaching you these spells is that, in this day and age, it is completely possible that out of the wreckage of the Second War another, most certainly more insane, Dark Lord will rise and try to remake Lord Voldemort's reign of terror.

"These charms are meant to help you to protect yourselves and never do I ever want to hear of any of you practicing on another student. If I do hear so, and if it is proven true, I will try my hardest to have whichever student that did such a thing expelled." He gave them a very hard look and made some of them squirm. "With that, I will continue on with your lesson."

The rest of the lesson went smoothly, except for Alastair's brooding in the back, but that didn't bother Blaise or the rest of the students. He skipped going to lunch and instead got something from the kitchen and then taught the other two classes he had – second years' and Advanced Seventh Year Charms – before walking, grateful that it was all over for the day, to the Great Hall for dinner.

Blaise was slightly relieved to see Hermione wasn't at the High Table yet. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he slid into his chair and felt the ring that he'd put there that morning. He thought about taking it out and slipping it onto his finger, telling Hermione what he'd done with Louise the moment he saw her so that she couldn't kill him, since it was a public place, but he decided that it was better if he told her in private so she wouldn't feel humiliated in front of everyone.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and began to drum them onto the tabletop as his nervousness grew more and more. The teacher's door opened up and Hermione stepped through, laughing at something someone behind her was saying. She stopped though, when she caught sight of him. She gave him a grim smile and sat down.

"Do you still want to have that chat tonight?" she asked, as McGonagall sat down. He nodded.

"Yes."

"Then after we're done eating, I'll get up and leave and wait for you in the Entrance Hall. Wait a few minutes and then follow me. We'll go to my chambers to talk, if you don't mind. Since you've only just gotten here I doubt you have a lot of furniture to speak of." When she finished talking, Hermione just looked at him, as if expecting an answer.

"That sounds like a good plan," he replied. Giving her a teasing smile, he went on, "But me going into your chambers, unescorted, won't that seem a bit… improper for an unmarried young woman such as yourself?"

She looked at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. "And what about young unmarried men like you? Wouldn't that seem improper, hmm?"

Blaise had just taken a sip of pumpkin juice before she spoke and swallowed it the wrong way. He started to cough and hack until the juice came out of his lungs before he replied, "Well, we'll talk about that tonight," in a way that made Hermione frown deeply at him and her lips thin in her most serious manner.

"I suppose we shall," she said, turning back to her own dinner.

Snape, who had sat down next to Blaise just as Hermione did, overheard the entire thing and nudged Blaise. "Is there something that you would like to tell me, Zabini?"

Blaise schooled his face into his most blank expression. "No, I don't think so, Severus. Is there?"

Snape looked at him for a moment more before glaring at him and turning back to his dinner.

Dinner seemed almost to go by at a snail's pace for Blaise. Though at moments he was glad of that, since he was incredibly nervous about telling Hermione his situation with Louise, he was anxious to get to talk to her and tell her his reasons for leaving her for five years. He had known when he left how long he might be gone. The fragment of Lilithe left inside of him told him how good these men were at hiding, and he had taken all of that into account when he went after them. Hermione, however, he had left in the dark about it. About all of it. And he had done it on purpose. He couldn't bear to have her know what he was about to do, going out into the world to track down men and kill them. He didn't want her to know that to be able to kill them he would have to go to the worst places in the world, do the worst things and finally, when he got down to the moment of their death, he wouldn't be an executioner. He would be a murderer.

That was what he was, five years later and back to his old home. Thirteen times a murderer, and yet here he was, a free man. The filth that itched beneath his skin from his added infidelity to Hermione didn't help his conscience any, and the added news of her engagement made him want to seethe in anger, to choke the life out of Draco Malfoy until he had no more competitors. Until Hermione was his.

But he recognized these thoughts as things that came from the absorption of Lilithe when he killed her. He knew that in his own mind, without her influences, he still considered himself a murderer. But he did not want to harm Hermione's well-being in any way. If Draco Malfoy was the one who made her happy, then he wanted her to be with him. To marry him. Hell, he would even be the best man at their wedding if it came down to it.

He was in the middle of inner analysis when Hermione nudged his elbow discreetly and got up, leaving the Great Hall. This is it, he though, picking at his napkin. After tonight, she'll hate me and our relationship will never be the same again. Ever.

Five minutes passed and he got up and left, too, ignoring the few titters and whisperings from decidedly feminine vocals chords. Before he left, he heard an outburst of, "But he's so _cute_!" before whoever spoke was shushed. Upon closing the door, Hermione beckoned him after her, and she led him through the hallways to a room that appeared to be in a tower and opened the door to go in, leaving him to follow and close it.

As he turned around to close the door, a small crystal vase flew by his head to explode on the doorframe.

"What the hell?" he yelled, turning around only to duck as she threw a book at him.

"Five years, Blaise!" she screamed. "Five years and not one fucking letter! No calls, letters, Floo messages, _nothing_! You could've been dead and I wouldn't have known! How dare you leave without telling me! How dare you let me think you would be gone only for a few months! You bastard! I hate you!" By this time, Blaise was standing up and walking towards her as she crumpled down and was crying. As he got closer, she started to sob. "I hate you, I hate you."

He knelt beside her and pulled her close to him slowly, placing her arms around her shoulders. "No, no, you don't," he crooned to her. "No, you don't."

"Yes," she cried, trying to wipe her running nose with the corner of her robe, "yes, I do. I hate you. You left me, you never wrote, I didn't know… I didn't know if you were dead or alive or what, and you weren't there!"

"Shh," Blaise said, rocking her back and forth as she turned and clung to his robes, her face buried in the crook of his neck. "Shh, you don't. You don't hate me."

"I don't hate you," she admitted, sniffling more and crying less. "I never could, you know. And I tried. I tried for a long time."

"I know," he said. "I tried to forget you. I couldn't, either." She snuffled into his neck again, and he continued, "I really couldn't. You seemed to be branded into my brain. I can't get you out, Hermione."

"I know," she said, crying a bit more again. "I couldn't get you out either. I don't know why, but I couldn't!"

He laughed. "I know why."

She peeked up at him and said, suspiciously, "Why?"

He leaned his head down and rubbed his nose against hers. "Because you love me."

"That could be it," she said, moving forward to kiss him. He backed away from her quickly before she could. "What's the matter, Blaise?" She frowned at him, wiping her eyes and trying to bring him closer.

"I told you at dinner that we'd have to talk about some things, remember, Hermione?" he said, nervously.

"Yes, I remember. But can't they wait for a while?" She moved towards him again and he moved backwards again, falling over his own feet and scrambled back to the wall. "I swear, Blaise, it's almost as if you didn't want me to kiss you."

"I don't," he admitted. She stared at him and began to speak, but he cut her off. "It's not for anything like that," he said quickly. "I still, well, I still love you, Hermione. But when I got back, I met someone." Her look hardened as he said this. "It wasn't serious when I met her," he continued, as her face became more and more closed off. "But the night before last, she came over and we went out to get some drinks and I woke up the next morning and… It seemed, during the night, we got married." Hermione's mouth dropped in outrage. "I'm sorry. It gets worse. You know I don't know anything about Muggle contraceptives. I must admit I never knew much about Wizard contraceptives, either. So she might be pregnant."

The blood drained from Hermione's face. Her mouth remained open as she moved to sit against the opposite wall. "Pregnant?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded. "Zel's staying with her, and then they're going to the doctor's when they have a firm suspicion, and she said she'd tell me once they found out."

"And what happens then?" she said, her head hanging and fingers rubbing her temples.

"She doesn't want a baby," he said. Hermione breathed a tiny sigh of relief. "But I do." Her head snapped up at him, and her face had shock written all over it. "So she's going to have the baby and I'm going to keep it. And then we'll get divorced."

"What?" she said. "You're kidding me, right? This is just a practical joke you're playing on me, aren't you? You're not really married and maybe having a baby?" She started laughing hysterically. "Great joke, Blaise. Great fucking joke! Next time pick something a bit less nerve-wracking!"

He stared at her. "It's not a joke," he said. "Louise might be pregnant, and if she is, I am keeping the child. She doesn't ever have to know about wizard-kind, since the baby will most likely be a witch or wizard, and I don't have to break the Statue of Secrecy. I want this baby, Hermione."

"Why?" she said, giving him an incredulous look. "Why would you want this baby? Why not let the girl get an abortion if she is pregnant? Why keep it?"

She went on and on at him, picking at his decision, until he blew up and shouted at her, "Because this is the baby we'll never have. You're marrying that sod, and I'm not going to ever be with you, so we'll never have children, but at least, I'll have this child. I'll have a child to occupy myself as you and Draco go off to your exotic honeymoon and you shag until your brains run out your noses. And then I'll be able to forget you." He stood up and so did she, slowly, as she stared at him in shock.

"Oh, Blaise-" she started. He held a hand up and turned away from her, walking towards the door.

He glanced back at her before he shut the door behind him and said, "Goodnight, Hermione."

* * *

**A/N:** And there we go! The inevitable conversation. It's rather emotional, if you can just picture it. I think that the combination of iced tea and me whilst writing this chapter has just created this 4000+ word monster. D'you know, with Roommates, no chapter went above 3,000 words until chapter sixteen? Random bit of trivia. Unimportant.

Anyway, please review everyone!


	7. Letters All Around

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything else that I might make references to. Wish I did. D

**A/N:** Hey guys! It's almost exactly a month since I updated and I thought it might be a good time to update, since I probably won't update until after the holidays. Three big days are coming up - Christmas, New Years and preceding both of these (15 days from now, actually) is my birthday! I'm so excited. Anyway, as a gift from me to you, here's chapter seven. Which is quite long, as you'll see. Enjoy!

* * *

Seven 

Letters All Around

Time passed quicker that Blaise had assumed, and the weekend came sooner than he expected. Saturday morning he woke up and immediately said a prayer of thanks that the classes for the week were over. He then rolled over and went back to sleep until, about an hour later, there was a knock on the door. Then another knock. Knocks continued until finally they became very loud pounds. Blaise got up quickly, already annoyed, and promptly walked toward his closet. He swore so loudly that the pounding on the door stopped, and he grabbed an over-robe and limped as fast as he could to the door, pulling it open and snapping, "What?" at the student in Quidditch robes standing there.

The student held out a form. "I'm Blaine Pierson, Professor. The Captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team? I was hoping you'd sign these forms that book the pitch for us."

Blaise glared at him, bleary eyed, for a second. "Fine. Wait here for a moment." He took the forms and went to his desk, grabbing a quill and signing his name with a flourish. Turning around, he saw that Blaine had followed him into his room and was now looking about, examining everything without actually touching anything. "Pierson." His head snapped back to Blaise, who held out the forms. "Now get out and go practice."

Blaine nodded, gave Blaise a tight smile, and walked out, neglecting to close the door behind him. Blaise did so, mumbling about the incompetence of youth and then stumbled back to bed for another hour's worth of sleep.

When he finally staggered out to breakfast, there was a note pinned to his seat. Reading it, he saw that the Headmistress wanted to see him at ten forty-five. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was fifteen minutes ago. He winced, grabbed a pastry and ran out of the Great Hall and up to her office.

McGonagall looked up from her papers. "Ah, Blaise. So nice to finally see you." The edges of her mouth were quirked up, almost in an amused smile.

"Well, you know me," he said, grinning at her, "always having to make an entrance."

She made a few disapproving noises, still rifling through her papers. He stood there impatiently for a few minutes until she looked up and began to speak.

"Blaise, I know that you've been away for a very long time. I offered you this job based not only on your qualifications – which are considerable, I will admit – but also because two of my most valued professors expressed their opinions that you needed to come home as soon as we could tempt you.

"I know you can guess – accurately, of course – at the identities of those two professors, but for appearance's sake, I won't name them. You are a very talented young man. You could have taken any job you wanted when the War ended, could have done anything you wanted. And, in the opinion of the public, you just ran away from it all." She eyed him shrewdly, and he fidgeted angrily. "This is your opportunity for you to say where you've been, young man. I can assure you, I won't give you another."

Blaise glared at her, and his fingers twitched involuntarily towards his wand. "I didn't tell anyone where I was going because I didn't want anyone to know," he said. "I went to extreme lengths so that no one could find me. I'm not sure now if I want to say where I was."

McGonagall pursed her lips again, her face the picture of irritation. "Then please just tell me about why you left. As the Headmistress, I have to answer to the Board of Governors."

He sighed and glanced out of the window. Clouds drifted by as he thought, twiddling his fingers randomly through his robes. A few minutes passed, and then he reluctantly spoke. "I left because there were people after me," he said, picking through his vocabulary carefully. "I left because I didn't want my family and friends to be in danger. This was my fight, and I had to do it on my own." He looked up and briefly met McGonagall's eyes. "I also left because when my sister died, something of her latched into me. I thought it died, but it didn't, really. It's still here, watching. Waiting. Waiting for me to break for just a second so it could gain control of me and begin the destruction she had just started when she died. When I killed her."

The Headmistress stared at him for a minute, whether it was in shock or horror, he didn't know. Then she picked up her quill and wrote something on a sheet of parchment. "So you left to further your education in Charms, Mr Zabini?" she asked him, a glint reminiscent of Dumbledore's in her eye. "To learn different techniques, you would say?"

After his own moment of shock, Blaise's face split into a huge grin. "Yes, you could say I did," he said. "With a bit of soul-searching on the side, but who doesn't do that nowadays?"

McGonagall nodded as she signed the sheet with her flourished signature. "Of course. Young people these days… they need a bit of a break before they begin the next phase of their lives. I myself took a six-month break after Hogwarts to go on safari before I took a teaching job." There was a pause and she looked back up towards him. "You are dismissed, Mr Zabini. Have a good day."

He nodded. "You too," he said, walking out.

As he walked out, he remained upright and composed, but the second the door closed behind him, he sagged against a wall and took a few deep breaths. It was incredibly close in that room, incredibly close to becoming real. He glanced about him, touched the walls, and felt their steadiness sink into him. The past week had been horribly jarring for him. The whole thing with Louise… He could hardly believe it. Though it did strike him that he should have known something like this would happen. It followed the pattern. Just as his life was beginning to be on track, it was blown apart by something. When he was a child, it was his parent's marriage; it was beginning to look like they would reconcile when the powers he had manifested themselves to them, finally revealing the secret he and his siblings had kept. Then it was going to school, followed by Hermione, followed by everything that had happened in the past five years. Why should it have stopped now?

Deciding that today was not a day to stay inside and be depressed, he strode back to his room and gathered up a few books and his satchel of papers to be graded then went down to the lake to find his favorite tree, a tree he studied under for the first six years of his school career. Just as he was getting settled, though, he caught sight of Hermione and two other people walking quickly towards him. They did not look happy. Within a minute they were next to him, and Hermione was shouting something.

"I cannot believe you would do this! Of all the things you are, I never thought that _absolutely thoughtless_ was one of them!" She went on for another few minutes and then stopped, glaring down at him and breathing heavily. "Well?"

He looked at her, confused. "Well what?"

If it was possible, her expression grew even more infuriated. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" she almost screeched.

Blaise set his book down and stood, brushing himself off. "I would," he said, "if I knew what I'd done."

Hermione let out an exasperated breath. "You signed off on the Slytherin Quidditch team to have the pitch on every available practice day from now until Halloween!" she exclaimed. "It's absolutely unbelievable that even _you_-"

"Is it against the rules?" Blaise interrupted.

Hermione, flustered, said, "Well, no, but it's clearly against all ethi-"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Then I don't see a problem." He gathered up his books and papers. "After all, we _are_ Slytherins, you realize. Ta." He left, laughing quietly to himself.

Glancing back, he saw them still standing by the tree, looking annoyed and glaring at him as they had a discussion. As he walked towards the gardens, Snape came out of a cluster of trees and joined him.

"I saw the other Heads of Houses converge upon you," Snape remarked, almost conversationally.

Blaise nodded, laughing. "Yes. They were annoyed that I'd signed the permission slip for the Slytherin team to have the pitch until Halloween."

An eyebrow of Snape's rose. "Did you now?"

One of Blaise's eyebrows rose in return. "Was I not supposed to?"

What could almost be called a smile flitted across Snape's face. "Generally speaking, no. However, I applaud your brevity. I never did, but that was because my… other business took me away so much, I found it convenient to not over-argue with my colleagues."

Blaise grinned. "I'm shocked, I tell you," he said. "Shocked that you wouldn't. Oh well, I suppose I am your student after all."

"After seven years, one would most certainly hope so," Snape said, clearly amused. "I must leave you now, Zabini; try not to annoy Granger too much in one day. Even if it is the most interesting thing that's happened in five years." Nodding to Blaise, he slipped down a side path and left him to his own devices.

For the rest of the afternoon, Blaise sat on a bench in the gardens, reading and grading assignments. He almost lost track of time, remembering – and only just – that it was dinner time. So he rushed inside and left his things in his chambers then dashed to the Great Hall, went in, and sat down. During dinner, nothing spectacular happened. Hermione and the other Heads of Houses were barely speaking to him; their entire demeanors were icy. Snape, too, was not in a talkative mood, so Blaise spent his entire meal thinking about his future.

After dinner, Blaise went back to his rooms. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace that took the chill he had developed during dinner off, so he sat down by the fire and stretched his hands to it. For a while, he stared at the flames, until suddenly, something clicked in his brain, and images rose up before him that he'd sworn to never think of again.

He'd been in Moscow for a while – almost a year – when they found him again. At first he didn't realize it was just one after him. He'd come to see that they'd split up, each gone to different cities. Rawlins had gone to Moscow. It was quite a shock to see him one day, to look up and see him sitting across the bar, staring into his own drink. It didn't take long for him to look up and spot Blaise staring at him, judging for the murderous grin that stretched across his ashen, sunken face before he made his move. Thankfully, the long months of cold in Moscow and his frequent use of caffeine had sharpened Blaise's reflexes to a fine point, though the downside was that he had developed a twitch to accompany the expanded sensory awareness.

He'd fled the bar at the first sign of Rawlins's movement. He ran down paths that he'd memorized, in case of an emergency, and finally ended up in the sewers. God knows how Rawlins managed to find him or follow him, but somehow he did. He'd made a wrong turn and he knew it. Ended up in a dead end, with Rawlins advancing on him. It was in that moment he decided he should fight, fight for his life and the life he should have had.

Fifteen minutes later, it was Blaise who was the one standing in the entrance to a dead end, clutching his wand and holding his burnt arm, which was literally dripping bits of melting skin off as he stared at the wide-eyed and terrified Rawlins.

He would never forget Rawlins' last words. They were almost inaudible not only due to fright, but also, to the broken jaw that he had acquired when he had last tried to get within three feet of Blaise. Blood trickling out of his mouth, he hissed the words, "Please… I don't want to die." He'd stared at him for a moment longer before replying, "I don't care," and casting a charm that sent flames all over Rawlins. He could still hear the shrieks of pain, the screams for mercy as he intensified the spell and the flames roared up through the drainage vent that opened onto an apartment complex. It would later be known as the worst fire in Moscow's history.

He still saw Rawlins in his nightmares. Except in his mind, the burning corpse was tottering towards him, the death-shrieks echoing off the sewer walls. Somehow he never dreamed of anyone else he'd killed, just that one. Whenever he had that nightmare, he woke up sweating and panting, clutching his blankets and disoriented.

Blaise had never told anyone about this nightmare. He never would, either. He never wanted to have anyone experience the pain and suffering that he had inflicted, that now lived on inside his mind and was on a loop progression in his mind's eye.

The morning of his departure to Hogwarts swirled into the forefront of his mind. The possibility that he had a child, however small in form, ignited a small flame in his heart. Something he had forgotten he had came to life, as if anew. He looked around him and – for the first time in five years – saw his surroundings through the eyes of someone who wasn't completely detached from the world. His fingers ran over the smooth wood of the table, and a slow grin lightened up his features as he stretched his fingers. Fatherhood. That sounded like a good idea to him. Sounded like something he could do, something that could be non-Earth shattering; a quiet thing. Private, even.

Moving around to his desk chair, he took out a quill and parchment. Nibbling on the end of the quill, he dipped it into the ink and began his letter.

_My dear child,_ he wrote.

_I don't quite know why I'm writing to you now. At this point, I am not even sure of your existence, not even sure if your mother is pregnant. But you are a possibility, a welcome one, in fact. I'm not entirely sure what I want to say to you. My parents were never completely parental, never quite reached that extra distance to become warm and loving. _

_Anyway, as I write this I fear for you. Fear that you, too, might be afflicted with the very thing that has tortured me my entire life. By the time you read this letter – if you ever read this letter – you will know that I am a mind-reader. The barrier of an Occlumens is nothing to me; it is as if it does not even exist. Your now deceased aunt, Lilithe, was also like me. But, unlike me, she could turn her power on and off – metaphorically speaking – but she chose not to, chose to keep harvesting the power acquired from the thoughts of others. This power seems to run in families – my second-oldest sister, Zel, also has minor mind-reading powers, nowhere near Lilithe's or mine, but still there. June, my younger sister, has empathic powers. I do not know if any of our cousins bore any powers. _

_I will admit I am very excited for your coming. I have done many terrible things in my life. Things no human should have. And somehow these things were not wrong, were not so wholly terrible – they were, in a way, purifying. I will never say that the world would be a better place if only our kind – Wizardkind – were the only inhabitants. I will say that the world would be a better place if wizards who advocate Muggle and Muggle-born annihilation were not alive. And, due inadvertently to me, it is somewhat less inhabited by those people. I have never wanted to kill, to murder another human being. But I did so for my survival. I am not proud of it. _

_Besides that, all I can say is that I hope I can be the kind of father you need, and that you will never lack anything I did. _

_All my love, _

_Your father, Blaise Zabini_

He stared at the letter for a while, letting the ink dry, and then folded it, pouring a bit of melted wax on it and pressing his ring seal against it.

Blaise never put much stock into Divination. When he had taken it while in his school years, it had never made much of an impression upon him. However, he had always subscribed to the theory that you never know until you try. He glanced around, and his eyes searched the bookshelves lining the walls of the study until he found what he wanted. Pulling out his wand and flicking it, the grapefruit-sized crystal ball and stand floated over to his desk and set themselves down gently.

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what he'd learned, what might've sunk into his subconscious. After a few unsuccessful minutes of this, he sighed and leaned back in his chair, thinking.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. He removed his necklace and placed his right palm over the crystal ball and focused his mind on it. Slowly, the clear glass fogged up and his arm began to give off sparks. He heard a voice, thin and whispering, in his mind.

_Who are you?_ it said.

"My name is Blaise Zabini," he gritted out; the sparks were becoming more and more painful.

_Zabini? Descended from Loren Zabini?_ the frail voice said.

"Yes." As soon as he uttered that word, his eyes closed without him exerting any thought, but before he could protest, he saw a woman within his mind's eye.

When she spoke, it was with the same voice that he had just heard a moment before. "This was my crystal ball, when I was alive," she said.

He stared at her. "So you did enchant it before your death."

She nodded. "Yes. It had been made by a wizard who 'specialized', if you will, in making enchanted objects. He charmed it to always show the truth." She paused. "My children had been fighting over it before my death, so I added another spell that ensured it would not be used by people who were seeking selfish gains." Another pause. "So what do you wish to know, Blaise Zabini, my descendant?"

Blaise paused. He had been so sure he knew what he wanted to ask. But did he want to know the future? Did he really want to know the outcome of this? "Yes," he murmured.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. Just… talking to myself." He took in a deep breath. "I wish to know if I am going to have a child, if the woman who might be carrying my child really is."

The woman who was once Loren Zabini raised her eyebrows. She looked somewhat shocked. "That is what you wish to know?" she asked.

"It is."

She nodded. "Very well." She spread her hands. "Take my hands and I will show you what you desire."

Twenty minutes later his eyes snapped open, and he quickly looked at the crystal ball. It was clear again, no longer the instrument of his future.

He glanced at a picture he had on his desk, and for a moment, the glass reflected his face. He was grinning; he could even feel his cheeks aching with it. His eyes shone like they hadn't in years. He ran his hands through his hair and yawned.

With all the knowledge he had acquired, he suddenly felt extremely tired. He got up and went into his bedroom, shedding clothing and donning his pajamas. Before he got into his bed, he noticed a letter, sealed with black wax and ribbon, on his pillow. Picking it up, he opened it and read its contents.

_Blaise Zabini,_ it said.

_I am not involved with those you pursued during the last few years. Neither do you know me or my face. But I am writing to you for your own safety and I pray to God you heed my warning: _

_Not all your enemies are gone. Be careful. Watch everyone._

He sat and stared at it for several minutes and felt the muscles on his neck and back tighten in stress. Not all of his enemies were gone? Where were they, then?

And, an even more important question was: Who were they?

* * *

**A/N:** Well! That was interesting. I like chapter seven, but I'm thinking that a lot of this fic from chapter eight onwards is going to end up being my favorite parts. However, I hope you like all of it and please review!


	8. A Wrinkle

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything else copyrighted within this text.

**A/N:** Well, I said I'd update after the New Year and here you go. I hope you enjoy this chapter, please review!

* * *

**Eight**

September passed quickly, as did most of October, and soon Blaise found himself in the last week of October, getting nearer and nearer to Halloween. On the Tuesday before it, he received a letter from his sister, Zel. It wasn't very long – uncharacteristic for Zel – but it told him to a letter soon. In case she requested a meeting, he went through his schedule and found he was free that Saturday – he'd taken up tutoring students a bit on those days, but somehow he managed to be free that night.

In the two months since his return to Hogwarts, Blaise had become the object of affection in many girls throughout the school, from fifth years to seventh. So far he hadn't had anyone approach him, but he'd walked in on several groups of giggling girls in the few minutes before classes.

The attention had dimmed somewhat in early October, however, when a sixth year Hufflepuff stumbled upon him one early morning when he was running around the grounds and she saw his burned elbow. Her face had gone completely slack, and she had stared open-mouthed, until he coughed discreetly and asked her if she was lost. She'd come out of it and blushed and mumbling a response, she fled. Two days later the story was all over the school and people stared at his arms wherever he went. Finally, he took off his over-robe during a class and rolled up his sleeve and showed it to his class. Then he pulled up his pants leg and revealed his burned knee, and told them all how he'd gotten them.

The whisperings stopped after that.

He'd been distracted almost completely for an entire month, however, thinking about the letter he'd found on his pillow that night in September. Not so distracted that he didn't teach his classes competently – and even provided tutoring for the Advanced Charms students, all eight of them, on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Frankly, he was surprised that none of them had dropped out. The Advanced Charms he offered was heavily defense- and offense-based. Of course, there were other kinds of charms included in the curriculum – including various household and medically useful charms, and some of the more complicated spells, like the Disillusionment Charm. He'd also thought up an extra-credit year project: having the kids help him make an Invisibility Cloak.

Of course, those cloaks were very tricky to make and incredibly sensitive in their intervening stages from a normal cloak to enchanted cloak. He'd studied the theory of how to make one, but never actually gone through with it. However, this year was as good a time as any to do one, when he would be in one place for a fixed amount of time.

But all of this was just deterring from his mind the looming outcome of his situation with Louise. He almost forgot sometimes, key word being 'almost'. It was always lurking at the edge of his mind, about to pounce on his thoughts and shake loose his brain. He wished and dreaded the day the letter from Zel would arrive.

The day after, as the owls flew in and dropped letters, Blaise saw his sister's owl amongst them and watched as it flew past him, dropping a thin envelope in front of him before leaving.

He used his butter knife to slit it open and then, unconcernedly, dropped the envelope on the floor, ignoring Hermione's protests for the over-worked house elves. He unfolded the letter as fast as his fingers enabled him and read the terse sentences. The letter was from his sister, Zel, and she'd written thusly:

_Blaise – _

_We've gone through all Muggle proceedings accordingly, and after two trips to the doctor, she's ascertained that she is, indeed, pregnant. I'll meet you in Hogsmeade at The Three Broomsticks on Halloween night. Eight o'clock. _

_Zel_

His hands shook. The edges of the letter crumpled in his clenched fingers. He felt the blood drain from his head. He heard the rapidity of his breath. He stuffed the letter into his pocket and gripped the Head Table tightly, trying to do so unobtrusively, so that Snape or Hermione did not inquire about his current condition. Once he regained control over his breathing he almost rushed up to his office to sit down at his desk and soothe his nerves with Firewhiskey.

He had a child. True, it was probably only about an inch long or so, but he had a child. Living, heart-beating child. He'd known before that it was so, but to have it confirmed with hard evidence was still so Earth-shattering.

And now he had to deal with reality. He glimpsed over at Hermione. She was reading a sheaf of parchment and turning a delicate shade of rose. He squinted at the letter and then recognized the handwriting. He'd seen it for seven years and had even learned how to mimic it when rewriting reports for its creator. She was reading a letter from Draco.

Lips pressed together tightly, he stuffed his letter into his pocket and strived for a light, unconcerned tone when he said to Hermione, "Letter from Draco, then?"

Hermione looked over at him, coffee mug raised halfway to her lips. "Yes. How did you know?"

Blaise shrugged. "When you spend seven years reading – and redoing – someone's homework, you try to forget the sight of it. I bet you I could send you a letter and even sign his name perfectly and you'd never know it wasn't him."

She rolled her eyes. "When will you grow up, Blaise?" she said, sipping her coffee. "You say these things like you expect me to believe you."

He grinned. "Oh really?" Leaning back and thinking, he finally said, "May sixth, two thousand and one. 'Dear Hermione, I'm writing to you as I drink my coffee and stare over the Paris skyline. Last night I was reading Voltaire, and I couldn't help but remember our conversation about his works in front of the fire that one night, oh so long ago' – should I continue, or are you satisfied?"

Hermione's lips moved and her eyes were distant for a moment until she seemed to snap back into the present. "That was _you_?" she said, her voice quiet and shocked.

Blaise's grin, which had disappeared for the moment she had been in thought, returned. "I wasn't in Paris, but yes, it was me. I'd heard from Snape that Draco would be abroad and I knew he has a soft spot for Paris, so I figured it would be a safe chance to say that." He shrugged. "I wanted to write you, but I couldn't write you as myself; I'd be taking too great of a chance. Besides, I figured you'd realize it was me. After all, far as my knowledge goes, you've never discussed Voltaire in front of the fire with Draco."

The rose shade of Hermione's cheeks deepened. She stared at him for a while. "I can't believe I didn't figure it out," she said finally.

He shrugged, and finished his porridge. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. Obviously you weren't meant to. If you had been, then you would've remembered."

He knew she was watching him as he got up and left the table, striding – and he heard a few sighs over that; damn, the girls had gone back to being dreamy over him – out of the Great Hall and up the stairs to his classroom.

That day the classes went on and on until he could almost have left and run around the castle a few times and come back without having missed a word of his student's answers. At least, that's how he felt. When his day finally ended, he was sitting at his desk, head flat on top of his volumes of scrawled notes, hands pressed down on his neck.

His moment of peace was then, of course, interrupted. McGonagall had come in, somewhat silently, and rapped impatiently on his desk. It made him to jerk up and overbalance, which in turn caused him to tip back in his chair and almost fall over.

Blaise returned her crabby expression and said, "Yes, Headmistress?"

She pursed her lips at him and ignored his tone. "I believe that you never did complete the particular… assignment… that Professor Dumbledore gave you during your last year of school."

His mind was a blank for a moment before it dawned on him what she was speaking of. "Oh. That. Well, no, I never did. I rather assumed Hermione had gotten it all figured out."

McGonagall sniffed. And in that sniff was five years of disapproval of Blaise and most likely all his actions leading up to his decision to leave England after the War. "She tried. She got only so far before coming to a – how can I put it? Ah – an impasse of sorts with the investigations."

Blaise felt his eyebrows rise high into his forehead. "_Hermione_ couldn't solve it? You are aware of whom I'm speaking of, aren't you? Hermione Granger, slightly on the short side, bushy hair, full of opinions?"

"Yes, professor, I am quite aware of who Professor Granger is," McGonagall said, her voice rather wearily annoyed. "And no, she could not finish her investigations."

"That… That's quite a thing, isn't it," Blaise said, amusement splashed all over his face. McGonagall sighed. "Not," he continued on hurriedly, "that she didn't try her very hardest, of course. I don't doubt that. But I wonder why you think I could continue with these 'investigations' when she couldn't."

McGonagall sighed and pulled a spare chair over to the desk. "When the castle was rebuilt after the final battle in the War, Hermione finished off her schooling and then began to work on the mystery during her spare time while teaching Transfiguration – which I had stopped teaching when I assumed my position as Headmistress. Everything progressed steadily until around two years ago when she came to me and said she could not continue her search any longer. 'The way is blocked,' she said.

"I said to her, 'What do you mean _the way is blocked_?' She replied, 'Exactly as I said. I can't go any further.' After a few more questions she eventually admitted that she had, indeed, found the room that she believed would provide the missing pieces to the puzzle. When I asked her why she had not gained access to it, she said that it was guarded by a portrait, not unlike the way into the Gryffindor chambers are guarded by a portrait. However, this portrait did not demand a password." McGonagall paused there, and Blaise waited until he couldn't stand it.

"What did this portrait demand?" he asked, eager to hear the answer.

McGonagall's voice was rather thoughtful as she answered; he had never heard her speak such. "I've never even heard of a guard-portrait asking for anything of this nature. I've never heard of them asking for anything _but_ a password." Blaise sighed, irritated. This snapped her out of her reverie. "This portrait asked for _blood_, Blaise. Hermione said there was a tiny basin beside the portrait, and so she pricked her finger and squeezed a few drops out into the basin. Once it hit the bottom, she said, it disappeared and the portrait said immediately, 'You are not of them,' and wouldn't allow her in."

"So," Blaise mused, "this portrait is looking for a certain blood type. Does it mean literally, blood type? Or heritage?"

A grim smile appeared on McGonagall's face. "That is exactly what Hermione thought. She spent months looking through the hallway that leads to the portrait and finally, under a frame of a miniature of a woman – which must have been around four hundred years old, she said – there was a name."

"And the name was…?" Blaise watched McGonagall carefully.

"It was faded. And barely legible. She couldn't make out the first name, but the second was much easier, she said." McGonagall looked into his eyes as she said, "It was an old spelling of 'Zabini', Blaise."

Halloween night Blaise was walking towards Hogsmeade village around the time the feast was starting at Hogwarts. He had been nervous all day, to the point of his students asking him if he was all right during his tutoring sessions.

In all actuality, he was completely in control, but the stress of the whole situation – especially what he knew that was to come – was affecting his concentration. But he would be better now.

The actual dinner with Zel did not last long. They discussed what would happen with Louise during the pregnancy and, of course, the settlement for the divorce and the papers concerning child custody.

But always, the knowledge of the future his ancestress Loren's crystal ball had shown him loomed over top his entire life. He knew what would happen. There was no avoiding it. All he could do was prepare for it.

Knowing your future is, in a way, almost as daunting as it being a mystery to you. After all, it's your _future_. There's no avoiding it. You can't go down another path just to get out of the ending because – that's the tricky thing about futures – no matter what path you take, they all lead to the same place in the center of the maze that is life. Thus Blaise found himself sitting late on Halloween night with only his bottle of Firewhiskey for comfort, looking at a tiny ultrasound print-off.

The next day he rose early and went to the passageway McGonagall had mentioned in their discussions. It was rather hard to get to; obviously the builders of the castle hadn't really wanted anyone to come here.

He reached the dead end and saw the little basin embedded in the wall and pulled out the pen-knife he'd brought with him. Eyeing the portrait for a moment, he sliced his forearm, reopening an old scar. Blood flowed into the basin.

The figure in the portrait moved and a second later the blood vanished. The figure in the portrait – he couldn't tell if it was male or female as the subject had been painted mostly in shadow – looked at him and said, "You are one. But you aren't _the_ one."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blaise asked, annoyed.

"It means," the figure said, "you cannot enter. But the next one will."

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed it! I won't be updating for a while, until I've written through chapter 12 (which will take a while, since I have three tons of schoolwork to do) but I think the wait will be worth it. Please join the LiveJournal community for Roommates and Resolving - and the eventual last fic - and let me know what you think of my fics (the link is in my profile). I really do want to know. Thank you, and thank you for reading and reviewing! 


	9. Catalyst

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything else in here that could be copyrighted.

**A/N:** Hey guys. Sorry for the really long time between updates - I haven't known anything to write so I thought I'd give you chapter nine while I try to figure out some things. I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks to Naycit, my beta. D

* * *

**Nine**

**May 22, 2004**

Seven months later, Blaise was acting as a chaperone on a Saturday for a trip to Hogsmeade. It was a nice spring morning, crisp and cool without being freezing, and the sun was shining. He'd been able to speak to Hermione in almost-friendly tone for the past month or so and his students were doing well. And he hadn't received any mysterious letters since the first.

He was walking towards The Three Broomsticks with Hermione, and she turned a faint rose color when he took her elbow to keep her from stepping into a puddle. It was strange to him, though he had to admit it was more because he felt more like he did before the war than ever.

"I don't see why you insist on being so harsh to your students," Hermione said, pulling him back from his nostalgic memories.

"Well, I'd hardly be Snape's protégée if I wasn't, would I?" he replied, perhaps a tad more sarcastic than he meant to be.

She rolled her eyes. "Blaise, be serious, please."

He sighed, somewhat dramatically. "Hermione, you and I have known each other for quite some time. In that time, have you ever noticed my stunningly good looks?" Hermione blinked at stared at him. He continued. "If I were nice to all my students, at some point, one of the female ones would get it in her head that I was _especially_ nice to her and then she'd do something stupid. I don't really need letters from concerned and angry parents and neither do you. And, frankly, I remember working harder at the schoolwork tougher teachers assigned me because I wanted their approval much more."

Hermione looked as if she were considering a response to that when an inrush of air and slight bang caused them both to turn around. Zel was standing there and looked rather harried. "Blaise, it's time," she said. Without allowing him to respond, she grabbed his arm and Disapparated them back to where she'd come from – which, as he took a look around when they arrived, turned out to be St. Mungo's maternity ward.

He jerked his arm from her grip and promptly said to his elder sister, "Zel. What the _hell_ is going on?"

Zel gave him a _very_ irritated look. "I don't know if you remember, Blaise, but for the last nine months I've been looking over your favorite mistake in there. And now she's in labor. Time to go see your child into this world."

Blaise felt all the blood drain from his head. "_Now_? I mean, I'm not ready for this- I can't- What do I _do_ in there?"

"Hold her hand and tell her to breathe," Zel snapped at her brother. "Now find a nurse, get some clean robes and get into the delivery chamber. Now's your part and you'd better face up to it."

He blinked at her for a second. Very rarely did you see this side of Zel, so like their late mother and eldest sister. Then he grabbed a pair of scrubs from a passing trolley and ducked into the men's restroom to change hurriedly into them. Once dressed, he slowly walked over to the delivery room door that Zel had indicated. Opening it, he saw Louise lying on the bed, breathing heavily.

He rushed over to her and as he did so, the MediWizard who was in the room came over to him. "I'm sorry, no visitors-"

Blaise cut him off, saying, "I'm her husband. The father."

The MediWizard paused and then nodded. "All right then. She's pretty much completely dilated and will be ready to star pushing soon. Just another few millimeters, really."

"So the baby – it'll be born soon?" Blaise asked the man.

The MediWizard smiled. "Yes, your baby will soon be here. If you'll excuse me, I need to conduct a few spells." He went to the end of the bed and pulled his wand out of his green robes and started to murmur spells under his breath.

As Blaise took up his station by Louise's hand, she looked frantically between him and the MediWizard. "Blaise, what the hell is he doing?" she asked, as a glow emanated from the wand to her stomach.

"Shh, it'll be alright. He's just conducting a few tests," Blaise soothed her.

Louise was calmed and squeezed his hand tightly as she went through another contraction. Shortly after it ended, the MediWizard announced it was time to push. She did so.

And then, something strange happened.

Blaise had never considered the possibility that his child would have powers like his. He knew that whatever child he produced would be a witch or wizard, but powers like his – well, it was a fluke for all of his siblings to have abilities like they did. He'd hoped that this child would be relatively normal – at least for the Wizarding world. However, it was becoming increasingly apparent that this would not happen.

The lights flickered. Then they went off. The MediWizard and nurses tried to cast light spells but – later on they would describe it as if their magic had just been _sucked_ away from them – the light flew towards Louise's womb instead and then winked out. Louise, who had been silent as she pushed until now, started to scream. Her face grew pale. The hand that had previously been squeezing Blaise's started to tremble and weaken its grip.

Several seconds later, the baby slid out of Louise's birth canal, covered in blood and screaming. Several seconds later, Louise was dead.

* * *

Later on, the MediWizard and nurses who had been attending her would say it was the strangest thing – the most tragic thing – that they had ever seen. A young couple, just having their first child, a beautiful baby girl, and the second the child is born, the mother dies. Just like that. As if the life had been sucked out of her. That chilling phrase was echoed by a MediWitch who examined Louise post-mortem. She said that the life just seemed to have _drained_ out of her. All the energy she'd had, stored inside her, gone.

And the baby who, on the Muggle prenatal sonograms, had appeared sickly and likely to be a very ill child was now a healthy child, full of life. Brimming over with it, you might say. She was born with a head full of bright copper hair and blue eyes just like her father's.

But the damnedest thing – the _damnedest_ thing – about all of it, the MediWizard said, was how the father didn't even seem to care about the mother's death. He just sat and held his new daughter. When his wife was carted off to the morgue in a body bag, he barely looked up from his child, and even then his expression was of detached remorse.

* * *

Several hours later, Blaise was standing outside of the nursery looking at his daughter sleep in her little hospital basinet. He had a small smile on his face, and he felt as if he could fly. He felt someone come up beside him and looked over to see Zel. She smiled at him.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Zel said.

"She's absolutely perfect," Blaise responded. The grin spread over his face.

"What are you going to name her?" Zel laughed as her niece woke and sneezed.

Blaise was silent for a while, and Zel almost thought he hadn't heard her when he said, "Eve."

"Eve?" Zel asked, slightly confused. "Why Eve?"

"I like the sound of it," he replied. "It's fitting."

"Hmm. What about her middle name?"

"Frances."

"Not after her mum? Louise?" Zel stared at her brother. Something was different about him. He'd come back from his travels not the man that she'd known before.

"No. Louise is gone. Not part of her heritage. I'll tell her of her mother, if she wants, but otherwise Louise won't be part of Eve's life." He turned to Zel. "When can I take her?"

Zel was a little disturbed by this side of her brother, but she pushed this out of her mind and strove forward. "The MediWizards say tomorrow, once the nurses teach you how to bottle feed. Of course, they say the examination of Louise's body will take a few days but-"

Blaise turned away from her as she mentioned Louise, decidedly uninterested. "I'm sure it will. Right now I'm far more interested in Eve and taking her back to Hogwarts." _The only place she'll ever be safe_, he thought to himself.

* * *

"It's been a long time since we've had a baby at Hogwarts," McGonagall said to Blaise Monday morning as he sat in her office, cradling Eve close to his chest.

"It's very kind of you to allow me to keep her here," Blaise said very guardedly.

"Kindness has nothing to do with it, Professor," McGonagall said briskly. "You've signed on to teach for the next three years and I intend to hold you to it."

Blaise grinned. "Well, I intend to stick around. Eve won't make much trouble, I'm sure. She's a very good-natured baby."

McGonagall smiled back for a second, before her face took on a somber expression. "I'm sorry to hear about her mother, dying like that."

To her surprise, Blaise just nodded and said, "Yes, it was very sad for her," and asked if that was all. She nodded and he left.

Very strange, indeed.

Blaise left the Headmistress's office slightly more cheerful than he was when he had entered. He still had his job. That had been weighing heavily on his mind for the past several months. As he carried the mound of swaddled antique family blankets that covered his daughter through the hallways, he found himself becoming more and more cheerful.

He thought that he couldn't possibly come off of this high until he remembered he had a class. How could he have forgotten? Though, he supposed, waking up at three in the morning and not being able to get to sleep and then having a seven o'clock meeting with the Headmistress tricked him into thinking the day was already halfway over. Point of fact, it was only just beginning.

Nevertheless, he had his eight thirty first years' Charms in less than five minutes. He ran through the hallways and made it there – barely – before his students and was able to conjure Eve's basinet before he heard his students outside the door.

It was going to be a long day.

By the time his first years' were out and the fifth years' trooped in, it was getting dangerously close to Eve's next feeding time. After all the students took their seats, he wrote down a section of reading for them to do and conjured a bottle of the formula he'd gotten from the hospital. It was freezing, so he cast a heating spell. It got a bit too hot, so he put it by the window for a few minutes.

She'd known – in the way babies do which is a mystery to adults – that her bottle was coming. But, since she started to wail loudly, causing his students to look up, shocked, he supposed she thought she'd been patient enough.

The girl he'd ridden on the Hogwarts Express with – Noya Basil, his memory supplied – raised her hand and said incredulously, "Professor, is that a _baby_?"

Blaise picked up Eve and gave her bottle as he answered. "Yes, this is my daughter, Eve."

The students started. Belatedly, he realized that the Gryffindors in his class had Transfiguration next— with Hermione. He cringed mentally and said, "Well, you can either stare at me and get zeros on your upcoming test or study and get ninety."

The students immediately went back to their books as he looked down ruefully at his baby, who looked back up at him past her bottle and stared into his eyes with her own deep blue ones. She stopped sucking on the bottle and was quiet for a moment and then burped. He laughed quietly.

It was sad, he knew, what would become of her. Her destiny was a dark one and he regretted that he couldn't do anything to change it. But he had time enough with her and he wasn't going to spend it regretting anything. He would prepare her as best he could, so that when she met the storm of her fate, she could face it head on, instead of running away… like he had.

* * *

**A/N:** The whole thing's slightly creepy, right? I love it. A friend who reads this story called me after she'd read the posted chapters and told me it was dark and depressing, but she liked it. It'll probably get a wee bit more depressing, but there'll be happy before the end, I promise!


	10. In Flagrante Delicto

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything else in here that's copyrighted.

**A/N:** I believe that I promised some Blaise/Hermione, right? And here's a chapter with quite a lot of it. :) Thanks to all of my readers and, of course, most especial thanks to my beta, Naycit, because without her I would't be able to post this!

* * *

**Ten **

_**In Flagrante Delicto**_

The future… What a scary thing – if you can call it that. Our lives are filled with choices, each leading down a different path. Once chosen, you cannot go back. Looking into the future is a difficult thing. Generally, you get a blinding slideshow of the many possibilities but, sometimes, in extremely rare cases… you only get one.

The night he'd looked into Loren's crystal ball, Blaise had only gotten one future: his daughter's. Her future was a dark one, one that he would not be able to help her with. He was pondering this as he sat in his office with a cup of hot, steaming tea. A soft knock was heard and he muttered his standard, "Come in," and was surprised to see Hermione.

"Hello, Blaise," she said. Her eyes were dark, and he could tell she was tired.

"Hi, Hermione." He flicked his hand at a chair. "Please, sit down. You look tired."

She sat and rubbed her eyes. "I am tired." There was silence for a few moments, and then she looked him straight in the eye. "Why?"

Blaise blinked. He pushed his spoon around in the teacup for a few moments of quick thinking. "Why what?"

"You know very well, Blaise Zabini. Now is _not_ the time to be joking with me." Her expression took on a harder edge. "Why did you leave? Why did you come back? Why then? Why now? _Why_?"

He sighed and an errant swish of his spoon sloshed some tea over the edge of the china cup onto the saucer. A stray thought noted that it was very fine bone china with a delicate vine pattern on it and did not deserve to be so cavalierly treated. "Hermione, I thought I explained this…"

"Not to me. You didn't tell me anything. Not one blessed thing. _Nothing!_ And you come back, and I don't even get the courtesy of a word of explanation when I was hoping, all those years, praying… While I, I…" She broke off and waved away his offer of a handkerchief. After she'd collected herself, she went on. "While I was here, waiting and loving you. Yes. I _love_ you."

He'd been chewing his lip and, after her last words, he accidentally bit down hard and split it. The tangy blood spilt into his mouth, and he sucked the wound and stared at her. "You love me?"

Color flooded her face. She gulped so loudly he could hear it over his pounding heart. "No. No! I love Draco. I didn't say-"

His voice was hoarse. "You love me. You said it."

"No. No, I don't. I'm engaged! I love Draco!" She was gripping the table so tightly her hands were white.

He stood up and was moving around the table towards her. She stood and backed away so fast she knocked over a chair and was tangled it in when he reached her. "You love me." He stretched out a hand and touched her cheek lightly, trailing his index finger along her jaw. Leaning closer he whispered it again, almost against her lips. "You love me."

She licked her lips. He remembered she had a habit of doing that when she was nervous. And because of their close proximity, her tongue caught his lips as well. He inhaled sharply, and as she quickly pulled her tongue inside the safety of her own mouth, he closed the distance and kissed her.

He heard a muffled gasp from her, but he ignored it as he gently pushed her to the wall and wrapped his hand around the base of her skull, tilting her head up so he could kiss her with more ease.

Hermione pulled back, and he looked into her eyes, which were no longer tired; they were bright and alive; they were how he remembered them from before the War. "Blaise. I can't. I'm engaged."

He brushed the hair back from her face. "So send the ring back. No more engagement."

She stared at him. "I don't know where you've been these past five years, Blaise, but Draco's been here. _Here_. With me. Being my friend, my confidant."

He shoved himself away from her and said harshly over his shoulder, "Your lover?"

"That's not fair, Blaise," she said quietly.

"How is it not fair?" he asked, not looking at her.

"Because it's not true." The truth behind her carefully-uttered statement made him turn. "And I just came for answers, Blaise. That's all I want."

"Answers."

"Yes. I just want you to give me answers."

He looked at her and fingered his bitten lip. "What kind of answers?"

"Well…" she said, taking her chair again. "Where've you been?"

"Every continent but Antarctica… No, I lie. I was on Antarctica for a few days on my trek from Wellington to Buenos Aires. Besides that, in different cities for different months at a time. Long enough for people to find me, or for me to find people."

She twisted a loose fringe on her robe. "Why did you leave?"

"Because it was the only way I could protect anyone I love – or loved – and no, I'm not going to say why."

"That's not a reason."

He picked at a loose chip of varnish on his desk. "It is. And I don't feel like going into it, thank you."

The varnish on the desk had formed a swirling pattern. He found it mesmerizing to look at, given the alternative of looking into Hermione's angry – or worse, hurt – eyes. He heard her feet shuffling and glanced up to see her rising from her chair.

"I can't do this, Blaise," she said. "I really can't continue to play this game with you. It was all right when we were in school, with you being hot one minute and cold the next, but not now. Now I have responsibilities. And so do you – you've got a daughter now. So no more. I'm engaged and I'm staying engaged to be married. _I love Draco_. And he doesn't play games."

There should've been a crash. Something should've exploded, something dramatic should have occurred. Thunder and lightning should have struck the clock tower. _Something_ should have happened. Something to mark the shattering of his heart. He thought he'd kept it so guarded, all these years, that he had a fortress around it and those who were inside would always stay there, but she had smashed down the wall and stormed out of it… and the only sound to mark it was the quiet clicking of the door closing behind her.

* * *

He sat there, and he remembered the day he killed his sister. It wasn't something he really thought about often, or on purpose: sometimes it just popped up into his brain. He and Lilithe had never gotten along. He had never known why, when he was younger. But then he learned that people don't always hear whisperings around them; that _normal_ people can't just sit down and concentrate to hear their parents thinking, or their sisters, or uncle, or— well, you name it. 

Lilithe hated him for it. Once, when he was ten, he saw into her mind and could _see_ the white-hot hatred. He'd never known real hatred, never really hated someone from the core of his being. But that was how his sister felt about him. Later he would find it more and more ironic that she used him – unwittingly – as her power storage unit. Like he was one of those Muggle storage places – go in, pay your 35 dollars or whatever and then put your spare things in there. He _was_ that. Except for the fact that he wasn't paid.

He'd known, that day, the day that Hogwarts was attacked by the Death Eaters, he'd known. He'd known that she was coming for him. And he knew that she would kill him.

Oh, yes. Lilithe would kill him. She was the only one who could. It wasn't an epic struggle, one to be told and retold for the ages, like Harry Potter's famous story. No, it wasn't anything glorious and bright and golden. It was sordid and muck-filled and something he'd toss in the midden, if it were a physical thing.

He'd told himself these past five years that she was dead. Her body was burned. He'd buried the ashes in a pit that he'd dug in a jungle in South Africa. But could she be dead? Could she possibly be existing as Voldemort had for years? He didn't know.

* * *

The next morning, Blaise was exhausted. He'd gone to bed late only to be woken up by Eve crying around three in the morning to be fed. It took him another hour to feed her and get her back to sleep, and a half hour after that to get to sleep himself. So, consequentially, when he went down to the Great Hall for breakfast, he could barely keep his eyes open. 

Needless to say, when he saw the small – but growing – crowd that had formed by the doors to the Hall, he was extremely annoyed. There he was, holding a newborn, starving, and in _desperate_ need of a very large mug of coffee and a large block of students blocking his way. He considered taking points from them before he just gave in and asked the nearest student what was causing all the ruckus.

The nearest student turned out to be one of the seventh years from his class, Vivian Thorne. He clapped a hand down on her shoulder and said, in a tone that told her if she didn't answer quickly and truthfully, there would be trouble, "Vivian! What in the world is going on?"

Vivian, who was a very bright girl and knew that tone, smiled slightly nervously and twisted a lock of her red hair tightly. "Well, sir, it's the new arrival. Everyone's so excited."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "New arrival? Who is it?"

Vivian endeavored to look entirely emotionless. By this time, the entire school had learned of Hermione and Blaise's previous involvement – and how serious it had been, if "serious" was the right word – and this news would probably prove very volatile to their currently precarious friendship. "It's… er… Draco Malfoy, sir. The Auror." To this she added, "Professor Granger's fiancé."

Blaise could _feel_ his face rearranging itself from its previous inquisitive expression to one of vaguely knowing. As his mind whirled, he barely heard himself say, "Oh yes. She mentioned something about Draco coming to visit." Which was such a lie. Hermione had definitely _not_ mentioned 'dear' Draco coming to visit, either today or in the near future.

_She might've _said he thought, as he cradled Eve close to himself and pushed through the crowd. In the distant background he heard Snape deducting points from several Houses in an effort to disperse the crowd. _She had all the time in the world, last night._

A nasty little voice in the back of his head said, _You mean when you were so busy seducing her? Perhaps if she'd said something, things wouldn't have stopped with that little kiss._

He stood still at that thought. If she had told him Draco was coming the next day, would he have stopped just at kissing her? Pressed her into something more? He didn't know. He didn't _want_ to know.

However, he pulled himself together quickly. After all, he was standing completely stock still in the middle of the Great Hall, blocking students trying to get prime seats for the impending show between Draco and him. Because there was _bound_ to be a show. Blaise never gave up with anything. He'd never given up on Hermione, not even when he left. Why stop now? A small smile curled his mouth and he practically strutted – in a most manly and attractive manner, of course, for he _was_ a Zabini – up to the head table.

Blaise was not modest. He knew what he was, what his talents were, how he looked, how much he had of everything. He knew himself entirely. And, in this moment, looking at Draco, he _knew_ that he could beat him. 'Beat' being entirely subjective; he wasn't looking to physically beat Draco – though the prospect was tempting, he'd admit – he just wanted Hermione to realize her mistake. And, damn it, he knew he was _much_ more attractive than Draco.

Oh, sure, during their school days Draco had been _the_ boy to sigh over, whatever House you'd been in. Even now, he was rather attractive: being an Auror had caused him to harden up; he'd acquired a few dangerous-looking scars in interesting places and he still had his white-blonde hair, no longer slicked back, but loosely tied back in a tail. His eyes were still sharp as ever, and still their singularly Malfoy-esque clear grey. He was, all in all, his father's son.

Of course, his father _did_ end up dying by Blaise's hands in a nasty manner involving a rock, but Blaise wouldn't dwell on that.

Draco was attractive, yes. But if Draco was attractive in an obvious way, Blaise was more so in an equally noticeable but less ostentatious manner. His black hair was also long, slightly less wild than it had been upon his return from his travels and, at the moment, loose and hanging down to his shoulders. His eyes were their unmistakably vivid, ever-changing blue: a Zabini trait that had carried through generations. But he had an air about him, this aura of utmost confidence and control and something in him caused people to look twice and then stare on their third glance.

Blaise was nothing less than unforgettable, which had caused him endless trouble during all his travels, but that wasn't a concern now.

The concern now was that here he was, in his slightly rumpled, but very finely made, deep navy blue robes with their tiny amounts of silver trim on the collar and cuffs, holding a tiny baby, and there was Draco in his Auror gear – which was comprised of quite a lot of dragonhide, which was a very good look on Draco – and Hermione turned red at the sight of him.

The small smile that had curled his lips a few moments before became a full-on smile. One of his best, he reflected later. The kind that creased his cheek and made him look so very dashing. "Good morning, Hermione."

At his voice, she flushed even more and mumbled into her porridge, "Morning Blaise."

Draco couldn't – and didn't – fail to notice her reaction. He stiffened for a moment and then let himself relax before saying, "Hello, Blaise. Welcome back."

Blaise nodded as he went around the table. "I've been back for quite a while. But thanks all the same."

Draco made a noise of affirmation. "How was the world?"

"World-y. And not so big, either." Blaise poured himself his much-needed cup of coffee as Snape settled beside him without speaking a word to Hermione or Draco. "Saw your Dad."

Draco, Hermione and Snape's heads snapped up and looked at him as he continued to butter a piece of toast. "You did?" Draco sounded a bit hoarse. "How is he?"

"Er. Well. When I left him, he was dead, as a matter of fact." Hermione's eyes grew to the size of plates as he said this and took a bite of toast. "Mmm. Needs more butter."

"Dead?" Hermione squeaked. "Did you catch the killer?"

Blaise coughed and managed to keep himself from coloring. It was a very hard struggle. It was not helped by the fact that Snape snorted into his mug of pumpkin juice. "Oh… er… no. He'd… um… gotten quite away. I don't believe they ever did find the… er… killer."

Draco's face had taken a sharper edge to it. "Oh, no? How was he murdered?"

"I don't believe it was murder," Blaise said, endeavoring to keep his tone light. "I heard tales of self-defense, and I believe his head was bashed in. Rather thoroughly, as I recall."

Hermione's tiny "Oh my" almost made him feel bad for what he was doing to Draco. Almost. As far as he was concerned, he could feel no sympathy for people who loved Lucius Malfoy. If he had had a parent that drenched in evil, he would feel relief for their death.

Of course, he had had a sister like that, but he had been the one who had killed her, so it was entirely different.

Draco's stiff-sounding voice broke into his reverie, "Well, whatever he got I'm sure he deserved it."

Snape, who had had enough of this nonsense, gave everyone a glare for good measure and said, "Of course he did. Pass the marmalade," and the discussion was ended.

After a long period of silence, Draco remarked, "Is that your daughter?"

Something that could pass for a mushy smile grew on Blaise's face. "Yes. Eve."

"I heard her mother died in childbirth." Draco's tone was entirely bland, but Blaise could see a tiny spark in his eyes.

One of Blaise's eyebrows lifted – entirely of its own accord, he protested later when his sister wrote him after receiving an account of the incident from a friend's younger sibling – and he said, "She did. It was tragic, I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"Louise wasn't to be involved with Eve's life that much anyway – she didn't want a child and I didn't want to be married to her. It was really rather convenient." Blaise sipped his coffee.

Hermione gasped and said, "How perfectly heartless!"

He gave her a startled look. "What?"

"Saying that the death of your wife – however impermanent that would be – and mother of your child was convenient!"

"Well, it was," he protested. "Though I suppose that was heartless. I apologize."

She eyed him sharply for a moment and then subsided, sipping her glass of milk. _She always did have milk_, he remembered. _Something about not getting – what was it? – osteoporosis in her old age._ "Very well," she said. "Apology accepted. Just don't let me catch you saying that sort of thing to the baby when she's older."

His mouth stretched into a grin and as he took a drink from his mug he said, quite out of habit, "Yes, love."

However inadvertent that little slip was, it was _entirely_ worth it, as Draco choked on something he'd just swallowed. It took several slaps on the back from Hagrid before he was quite normal again, and he was very white as he stared at Blaise and Hermione. "Is that what's been going on, then?" he said, his voice raspy. "All this time? You two have been carrying on here, restarting your secret, stupid little romance?"

Blaise flicked a glance at the now _very_ interested students who were all watching this little show as Hermione murmured to Draco, "Not _now_, Draco, for heaven's sake."

"Yes, _now_, Hermione!" he yelled. Several seventh year girls were whispering to each other now, looking fascinated. "You two have always been fascinated with each other and I suppose you've finally decided to throw away everything for him! Five _years_, Hermione! He was gone for five years! And I was here, with you!" He might've gone on, if Hermione hadn't stopped him.

"Draco!" The face that she had was what Blaise clearly remembered as her 'very angry' face. "Blaise and I are _friends_. He has a _child_. He was _married_. You and I are _getting married._ You are being, once again, incredibly insecure. I love you, you idiot!" All of this, while as forcefully stated as Draco's statements had been, was said in a much quieter tone of voice, though an admittedly _angrier_ tone of voice.

Blaise supposed that, if it were any other woman saying this, he would have to be worried for his case. But, since it was Hermione, he didn't bother to let it get him down. After all, last night she'd said she loved Draco. It hadn't stopped her from kissing him, though. And it certainly wouldn't stop her again.

He was just about ready to intervene in this little lovers' quarrel – and possibly make it a _teeny_ bit worse by giving Draco something (besides what he didn't know) to be insecure about – when McGonagall entered the Hall and ordered Draco and Hermione most emphatically _out_, and with Draco a special emphasis was placed on it. With a glare at his old House rival's Head, he told Hermione he'd be back that night and left, presumably to Hogsmeade to Apparate back to wherever it was Aurors went. Hermione fled the Great Hall to a destination unsaid, though Blaise had a very good idea as to where it was.

McGonagall glared at him too, when they were gone and he very quickly said, "I didn't do anything!"

"I was not born yesterday, my boy," she said, in her sternest tones. "You, out too. Go do something productive, I beg of you." While her tone was still stern and disciplinarian, he could detect a tiny twinkle in her eyes. He suddenly remembered she'd never liked Malfoy.

He gave her as cheeky a glare as he supposed would be appropriate and nodded before leaving the Great Hall. He thanked Merlin that he tended to eat early in the morning, not only for the time he would have with Hermione while straightening this out, but for the fact that not many students were up and eating at six forty-five in the morning. This little episode would be around the school by ten, but for now it was confined to the hundred or so students who had been eating and whoever trickled down as time wore on.

His feet took him on a familiar path and soon he was in front of the painting that had marked his quarters during seventh year – the Founders. He smiled at them and Godric Gryffindor gave him a wink as the painting swung open for him. He heard a crash from inside as he went through the passageway and smiled dreamily. _That's my Hermione, throwing things whenever she's angry_.

He ducked right as he came out, for a large metallic object hit the wall behind where his shoulder had been moment before. "Hermione, honestly! Isn't this getting a little old? Not to mention cliché?"

"I don't care!" she yelled at him, from the other side of the room. "_Oppugno_!"

A cloud of angry birds flew out of her wand and directly at him. He waited for a few seconds before flicking his wand in the most careless manner he could, canceling the spell.

This made her even more angry. "I _hate_ you. You confuse everything! You _ruin_ everything! And you do it on purpose! When it comes to you, _everything_ is about you! Everything must be done your way! _You_ have to have what _you_ want, when _you_ want it! _I hate you!_" She stamped her foot in a way very reminiscent of a memory he had of his younger sister when she was five. On June, it had been annoying. On Hermione, it was cute and oddly even more endearing.

By the time she stomped her foot, he'd made his way around the couch, set Eve down securely between a few pillows, making sure she wouldn't suffocate, and looked at her, in what he hoped was his sweetest way: eyes crinkled at the edges, mouth quirked up on one side and a look in his eyes of the years ago when they had lived together in these very rooms. He held out his hands, plaintively. "Slytherin, remember?"

If she had been expecting something in the way of an apology, this definitely was not enough of an excuse to warrant him _not_ apologizing. "Oh, you…" She paused as she thought of a suitable insult. She couldn't think of something. "You, you, you…" She stomped her foot again and settled on an adjective. "You _insufferable_ man!"

He smiled. "I am not. You, as I remember, adored suffering me. I was very sufferable. Enjoyably sufferable, as I recall." She glared at him. "Hermione…"

"No!" she said. "You do not get to 'Hermione' me and make everything all right, Blaise Zabini! We are not seventeen anymore!"

He stepped closer to her and fingered a strand of her less-bushy hair and murmured, "No, we're not."

Hermione grew quiet and one of her hands involuntarily reached up to hesitatingly run itself through his hair. "No, we're not…" He moved closer to her and she jerked away again and said, "Blaise, you… you have a daughter and I- I'm engaged. Engaged! To Draco. Who I love," she added, as if reminding herself.

"You loved me first," he said, his tone completely frank. "Me first. Me always."

The look on her face confirmed what he thought. She did love him. She always had. She always would. "But engaged— I can't, it's what everyone expects… You were _married_, you've probably had so many other people…" She stopped when he put his hand over her mouth.

"You're always talking," Blaise said quietly, gently, to her. "You never let me finish. You, Hermione Granger, have never been one to do what everyone expects just for the sake of everyone expecting it. I was married because of one stupid night of lots of some Muggle liquor. And I haven't had that many other people. Being on the run does that to you: you stop worrying about your 'carnal desires', as some would put it." She giggled for a second and he paused. "And you were always first, Hermione. You. First. I've loved you for so long; I can't remember not loving you. You, you, you, you, you…"

He would have gone on, but she shoved aside his hand and pulled his head down with her hand that was still entwined in his hair and kissed him forcefully. He was stunned for a moment before his hands acted in a long-forgotten manner and wrapped themselves around her waist and pulled her closer, holding her tightly against him.

Fumbling hands pushed off his outer robe, and he'd begun to take hers off when there was a sound. An eerily familiar voice spoke. They broke apart and turned.

Blaise was gaping – he was sure Hermione was too – there, pacing around the sofas and chairs was his seventeen-year-old self. Hermione's eighteen-year-old self was watching him. She was the one who had spoken, and she spoke again after a second. "In the Muggle world, people are usually only this serious when they tell their family they're dying from cancer or something." Eighteen-year-old Hermione's eyes widened. "You aren't _dying_, are you? Oh no, _Blaise_!" She sniffed, preparing to cry.

His seventeen-year-old self reassured the young Hermione and Blaise turned to his Hermione and said, rather hoarsely, "That— That's _us_!"

If her eyes were as big as plates earlier that morning, there were bigger than platters now. "Yes, it is. That's from when you were worrying about Snape and your sister."

"I remember." He glanced around. "There aren't any enchantments in here that could've done this, are there?"

She shook her head. "No. I cleaned through this place after the War, looking for anything and everything useful I could. Nothing in here can do that."

He frowned. "Then what…?" He shook his head suddenly. "Oh, no." He moved away from Hermione and picked up Eve, quickly muttering a few words Hermione didn't catch. A groan emitted from him after a moment, when Eve looked to be shrouded in a glowing white mist.

Hermione came over to them and said, worriedly, "Blaise? What's wrong? Is something wrong with her?"

"_Finite Incantatem_," he said, moving Eve so he could cradle her with one arm and Hermione with the other. "She's just… odd." He looked down at his daughter.

Eve looked back up, her big blue eyes shining and a smile on her lips. She giggled. Her wispy red head stirred when a passing draft caught it. The spell he'd just cast confirmed it: his daughter had powers. He didn't know what, exactly, those powers _were_, but he would try to find out. For her sake. She would end up being a mind-reading, like him, to some extent. But Louise's genes must have caused some sort of addition to the trait. So who knew what oddities his daughter could do, besides raising ghosts of the past?

"She showed us, us," Hermione said. "Like _priori incantatem_, almost."

"She raised memories," Blaise said. "But right now, that's not important. Hermione, what—" Just then, the bell rang. He swore.

Hermione grabbed their outer robes and shoved his at him and quickly donned hers. "Hermione!" he said.

She turned. "Blaise. I- I don't know what this means," she admitted. "I don't. But I would like to find out."

He closed the distance between them. "So are you going to end it with Draco?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I will. I have to, don't I? It's not right, leading him on."

Blaise smiled. "No. No, it's not. It's not right leading _me_ on, either."

She rolled her eyes. "We'd best both get going, if we're going to make it to class on time."

"Before they decide to come looking for us," he agreed. "Wouldn't that be fun, being found by our students _in flagrante delicto_." She blushed bright red and he grinned. "See you later, Hermione."

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed it. :D I adore Eve (even though she's not even a month old) and she's definitely going to be an interesting character when she grows up. And, also, that was quite a lot of Blaise/Hermione in there, no? 

Please review!


	11. The Beginning of the End

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd have more of a Scottish accent.

**A/N:**

**WARNING:**

This is a **strong** PG-13 for this chapter. There is mention of graphic violence and it is possibly disturbing. Please, no flames.

Besides that, thank you to my beta, Naycit, without whom I wouldn't be able to do this. Also, thank you to all my readers! You're wonderful!

**

* * *

**

**Eleven **

_**The Beginning Of The End**_

_Mr. Zabini, _

_How odd it is for me to greet you in such a way even after these many years; one thinks we should almost be on a first-name basis, after all the events that have transpired between us. _Almost._ Think upon, if you will, your young niece, Blanche, the daughter of your late sister Lilithe. What a darling child, with her dark curls and bright eyes. So full of joie de vive. _

_Too bad she won't live long enough to enjoy it. _

_You see, Mr. Zabini, I cannot lay my hands upon your august person at this moment, so my deep desires to have you pay for your crimes personally will have to wait. However, I have the knowledge that you hold your family as nearly and dearly as you hold your own personal security. So, to have it breached… But, if you cannot pay, _someone_ must. _

It was not signed.

Blaise gripped the letter in his hand tightly and the edges crumpled slightly. While he did take it seriously, he was distracted by the sight of Draco Malfoy's hand curled around the base of Hermione's neck as he was whispering intimately into her ear. She was giggling. Blaise could hardly keep himself from leaping over the table and stabbing Draco with the shrimp fork that was clenched in his other hand. It had been two weeks since they had talked and Draco had _still_ not been given the heave-ho. The fork dug into his palm. He ignored the pain.

Someone nudged him. He turned to see the slightly amused face of Severus Snape watching him. "If you squeeze that fork any harder, Zabini," Snape drawled, "I'll have to make up a healing poultice for you. And you do know how I hate being helpful."

Blaise scowled, an expression that he had not condescended to since his young days of pouting when not given a sweet or bought a toy at his exact moment of wanting the item. "_You_ aren't the one being tortured by them," he said, sullenly picking at the surf-and-turf-like dish before him.

"On the contrary, boy, we are _all_ being tortured by them," Snape said. He was not eating the shrimp. The house elves who worked in the kitchens had long ago learned that if any crustacean was put upon Severus Snape's plate, it would soon find itself back in the kitchen, in a state of distressing decomposition. Snape paused as he eyed a piece of his carefully sliced steak and then selected the most worthy to be eaten at this particular moment in time. "Do you think we all want to be witness to their particular and most disgusting brand of public declarations of affection? I much preferred it when you were dating her; at least you were discreet."

"We shared a suite of rooms," Blaise said, making an attempt of a subtle-yet-blatant way of suggesting that, while they were not particularly _publicly_ affectionate, there was plenty of _private_ affection going on.

Snape finished chewing and raised an eyebrow at his former pupil. "Do I look like I care what you and Granger did in your rooms – which I'm sure was nothing because the portraits in there are _particularly_ chatty – as long as you did not do anything of the sort where I would be a witness to it?" He sniffed. "In fact, you won me quite a bit of money."

"…Excuse me, _what_?" Blaise said, finally startled into the real world. "_Money_?"

The Potions Master smiled. Like a crocodile. "Yes. I had a quiet, but substantial, regular bet with Professor McGonagall on your relationship with Miss Granger. She was convinced that every Slytherin boy was out to get as much as he could as often as he could – as she thinks of all teenage boys, which is a rather good suspicion, I think, as I can remember _being_ one – and I knew you well enough to know that you would never do such a thing."

Blaise gave a grunt of disapproval and then fixed his gaze firmly upon the student population. This turned out to be a mistake. It gave him full view of the girls who were looking back and forth between him and Draco and – dear sweet Merlin – _sighing_. It made his stomach churn. He quickly excused himself and escaped back to his chambers to see Eve, who was being watched by a charming house elf by the name of Dobby, who was happy to sit with the baby as long as he was able to knit, and Blaise gave him all the yarn he desired.

He was greeted by a smiling baby, a happy house elf, and yet another half-done, all-the-colors-of-the-rainbow knitted jumper for Eve. He held it up, gazing at it in the firelight. "How lovely," he said, smiling at Dobby. "I'm sure she'll look quite adorable in it, won't you, darling?" he asked the baby, who gazed up at him, bright-eyed. She giggled.

"Sir is very kind," Dobby said, "thank you. Dobby must be going now."

"Oh, Dobby, wait," Blaise said. "I forgot to give you something; I picked it up in Hogsmeade the other day." He walked over to a drawer and pulled out a plastic bag and handed it to Dobby. "There were supposed to be matching sets, but people had already picked through them. I do hope you like them…" He trailed off, rather pathetically.

He liked Dobby. Dobby reminded him of his own nurse, who was living at the Zabini Manor in semi-retirement. That is to say, she only did her duties in his particular set of rooms there. When he was in "residence" as his family liked to call it – and he liked to say they had delusions of grandeur – she was at his beck and call and wanted to be summoned for his every desire. She was, in an odd sort of way, the only maternal figure he'd ever had. A strange thought.

Dobby pulled out the gifts, a knobby green sweater that read "Happy Christmas" in huge, bright red-orange letters with the 'i' dotted with a golden bell, and an orange-and-brown striped scarf. His tiny elf chin wobbled. "Oh, sir," he said. "Dobby loves them!" And, quite unexpectedly, he hugged Blaise's knees tightly.

Blaise turned red and patted Dobby's head awkwardly. "There, there, Dobby," he said. "You're welcome. Er… I'm sure I shouldn't keep you from your work."

Dobby moved away from him, already donning the garish sweater and scarf – for early June, it was still chilly – and smiled widely. "I will see Sir soon! Make something for Sir!" he said, brimming with pride. He vanished before Blaise could insist that he didn't need another hand-knitted sweater.

* * *

_Dear Blaise, _

_I got your letter. Eve is so lovely! She's grown so much in so little time. I suppose I notice babies growing more, now that I'm not around this one on a permanent basis. _

_My son and daughter continue in the finest shade of health – though sometimes I find myself praying that they will catch cold, if just to slow them down a bit – and they have finally infiltrated their grandfather's last stronghold of solitude. Yes, they learnt to use Floo Powder to get to the Italy house. _

_In more urgent and very alarming news, our niece Blanche has gone missing from her place at the Isola. You may remember that, while Lilithe prevented her children from becoming mind readers in the way that you and I are, Blanche is a naturally gifted Occlumens, a power Lilithe forgot to screen for. Please look for her. I do not wish for someone to use her in the manner our sister was used, and I don't think you could bear to kill Lilithe twice. _

_Love,_

_Zel_

He received this letter two days after the first. If the first letter troubled him – though, granted, not enough to distract him from his sulking about Draco and Hermione – this one unnerved him completely, especially in the wake of the first letter.

Blaise was not entirely fond of his late sister's children; they were rather spoiled and impolite little prigs, but they certainly didn't deserve to be kidnapped. Or killed. This is why he had left; so no one could find him and hurt him or his family in this manner.

Once you'd formed an acquaintance with Blaise, it wasn't hard to see that he adored his family. He loved all three of his sisters – even if the eldest _had_ tried to kill him several times and then been killed by him – and his nieces and nephews, and even if he wasn't as close to Philip and Blanche as he was to Atton and Taris, he loved them dearly.

And someone was threatening Blanche. And now she'd disappeared.

He thought back to the letter he'd received at the beginning of the year. It'd mentioned something about not all of his enemies being gone. Perhaps this unknown kidnapper was one of those enemies. But he couldn't think of it here; not in the Great Hall with the groping clinginess of Draco and Hermione next to him and the ogling mass of the student body's roar of chatter closing in around him. He excused himself from the table.

As he walked down to the doors and was tucking the letter into his pocket, the Hall's doors opened and someone walked in. He looked at the figure, a tall, brown-haired man with a Roman look about him. Blaise gazed at him for a moment before the name sprang out of his mouth without his brain registering it.

"Octavian Yarrow. I'm surprised to see you here," Blaise said, trying not to wrinkle his nose in distaste.

"Blaise Zabini. I'm not surprised to see you. You've always come crawling back on your knees to beg for what you want," Octavian said, shooting a glance in Hermione's direction. "How it must burn you up, to see Draco lapping up what you can't have."

Though it did more than 'burn him up', Blaise did _not_ let this show on his face. He really did not like Octavian Yarrow and did not want him knowing what his weaknesses were. "Yarrow," he said, copying the liquid, languid tone Snape used when in his most superior mode, "I can _have_ whatever I want. Whenever, wherever." He let the edge of his mouth curl up into a slight smirk.

Several girls at the tables by them sighed. One said, quite distinctly, "But if only he weren't a _teacher_!"

Octavian's face began to screw up into a glare, but he caught himself. "As much as I'd like to continue this discussion about what you can and cannot have, Zabini, I'm due for a lunch meeting." He banged his shoulder into Blaise's as he made his way up to the High Table to sit by Draco.

At that moment, Hermione caught Blaise's eye with her own. He gave her his best impassive look and swept out of the Great Hall.

He hid in his office until it was time for his fifth year Charms class, which he tried to go through as quickly as possible without leaving anything out and even let the students out five minutes early. However, when he looked up from his desk after dismissing everyone, there was still one person there.

"Alastair," he said to the young man standing in front of his desk, "can I help you?"

"Yes," Alastair said. He looked fidgety. "You know that man who showed up at lunch? Who went to speak with Mr Malfoy?"

"Yes, Octavian Yarrow," Blaise said, marking a problem wrong on someone's test. "What about him?"

"My granddad says he's… well, he says that he's involved with the Wrong Sort, professor," Alastair said. Blaise could hear the capital letters.

"The 'Wrong Sort'?" he inquired, grading the paper. "And what sort, pray tell, is that, Moody?"

"Death Eaters, sir," the fifth year responded. Blaise's head snapped up at that. "Granddad says that he's still involved with the last ones, sir."

"And how does your granddad know that?" Blaise watched the boy carefully.

Alastair wasn't fidgety, Blaise realized as he was watching the boy. The boy was _wary_. As if something were going to pop out at him from the next niche in the hallway. He was his granddad, all over again. In a significantly less tattered body.

_He gets top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts,_ Blaise thought. _But I never, ever see or hear of him studying it. Doesn't surprise me, considering…_

"During the Easter holiday, professor," Alastair said, interrupting Blaise's inner reverie. "He was talking about the contingents left over and said that Yarrow was a big man among them. And then he spit after he said Yarrow's name," Alastair added. "Like it was something dirty."

"Oh, it is that," Blaise said vaguely.

"Sir?" Alastair said.

Blaise shook the memories of Octavian from their school days out of his head. "Oh, just thinking." He gave Alastair a sympathetic look. "I feel rather sorry for you lot, who were too young to know what happened, five years ago. Now everything's being run by us who were. And someday you're going to get into the world we've made for you all and wonder why it is the way it is." He patted Alastair on the shoulder. "Off you go, young Moody. Tell your granddad hello for me when you write him next."

Alastair nodded, slightly bewildered at Blaise's comments and left. Blaise leaned against his desk and thought about what the boy had told him.

Well. Octavian Yarrow was involved in the leftover Death Eaters, the ones mongering for a new Dark Lord to support so they could overthrow the Ministry and rebuild Voldemort's flawed vision. But, of course, _they_ wouldn't see it as flawed. They would see it as great. For the good of the world. Stupid bastards.

* * *

The next day, during lunch, when the mail was coming in, Blaise was deep into conversation with Snape about the new theory of using minute amounts of powdered belladonna in healing potions when an unfamiliar owl dropped a square package, about the size of a Quaffle, in front of Blaise. There was only his name at the top. He shrugged and slit the brown paper of the package to reveal a Spellotaped brown box. He opened it. There was a folded note on top of a cloth-wrapped object. 

As he picked up the note, he could feel Snape's inquisitive gaze on him, he could hear the sounds of people around him eating and talking. But… but, the thing he could hear above everything else as he unfolded the paper of the note to read it was the sound of Octavian and Draco laughing. He read the note.

_There was a warning. _

_And now you have paid one-sixth of your due._

_Bid farewell to your niece and nephews. _

_After them, we will come for your daughter._

He pulled out the cloth-wrapped object. He was numb as he unwrapped the object he now held. Even before the last fold of cloth fell away, before the scream of Hermione as she glanced over and saw what he was holding, _before he had even touched the wrapped object_, he had known what it was.

It was the severed head of his niece, Blanche.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I can't really say anything about this chapter for fear of giving something away that happens in the next, sorry. So: Please, no flames? 


End file.
